Road Rage Reverend Poem by Gavin Turner

The Reverend Hugh was a mild mannered chap

Never one to be found in a flip or a flap

His patience and charm were examples to all

A man with the god given right to walk tall

Delivering sermons and preaching good will

And bringing round support for those that were ill


No finer a fellow could ever be sought

But there was one small lesson he had not been taught

Yes, this chink in his armour brought on the red mist

For him, like a drug that he could not resist


On Saturday evenings when out in his car

He’d drive far too fast and he’d drive very far

He sought out the weak who had dared to go driving

On his road they had not a hope of surviving


He drove like a mad man hunched over the wheel

The adrenalin rush was part of the appeal

He harassed and harangued all the other road users

Whilst cursing and swearing

You wimps and you losers

Get out of my way or I’ll tear you apart

THe conviction of voice was his well defined art


The Robin Reliant of Angela Doors

Was out for a spin on the North Yorkshire

When all of a sudden the Revs mean streak of blue

Took her car off the road (and poor Angie went too)


And as she was toppling over and over

She heard a strange laugh from inside that Range rover

Her lovely old motor was nothing but scrap

and Angie expired in her tiny death trap


But Reverend H had sped off into town

with his mind on fresh victims that he could bring down

Two bikers recycled, three pensioners pegged

He examined his list to find he was ahead

As he swigged from a thermos of weak lemon tea

And examined the map with iniquitous glee

His rage was not satisfied

curbed or requited

But a thought now occurred that had got him excited

in order to crown himself King of the Road

His next victim must be a very wide load


He took to the motorway looking for strife

Unaware he was close to the end of his life

He spotted his prize slowly chugging away

If there was such a thing, he knew this was his day


The truck driver, Jimmy, a fat man from Clyde

Saw the crazy old priest steaming up from the side

Quite shocked and surprised, he just thought of his load

As this lunatic tried to run him off the road


For Jimmy was working for fascist dictators

who needed explosives to blow up some traitors

The vicar had shunted and pushed every way

The tyres slipped the truck tipped, and it blew him away


The explosion was seen for ten miles all around

and small pieces of priest got piled up in a mound

If a moral arose from the smoke acrid black

It would be no ones perfect

So just watch your back