Apathy stains wore its equipment,
Corrosion from gales of compromise had it dysfunctional,
Cylinders of creative lubricant dangled empty,
Staggering under debts of the womb,
Worst fears of its crafty artisans turned true,
None could make it to work,
For needles of mediocrity were scattered bare,
Flooding roads of my town, pointed everywhere,
With lamed logistics, a hungry nation to scare,
A stagnant fleet of trucks, dusty with lethal punctures,
Maintenance craved every inch of its infrastructure,
Servicing had been the need of the hour,
Engineers blocked the exit, while to mend forced in entry,
Barred the ailing entrepreneur from notifying,
“Under Repairs – The Verse Factory…”
Debaroon’013
(Sincere and Heartfelt Apologies to all my beloved and precious readers for being away…
For this pothead, rehabilitation was the surprise gift of this kind society.
With my return, awaits you some white-eyed poetry…
Image credits: http://pretoria.olx.co.za )
MyLores.com 