Driving to work
Stabbing looks of old disgust, inquisitive young stares
Glance to question sanity and disapproving glares
Beeps of indignation, impatient chirps of horn
Assumptions of the social standing to which I am born
The motorway is frantic, as usual at this hour
I glide through queues to rescue time, not make your face so sour
Its not about fast driving its understanding flows
You can’t spit venom if I see what nobody else knows
A businessman, I drive to work, really, quite a normal figure
My choice of chariot should not alone be reason for such vigour
Red to amber, then to green we all play the same fiddle
So why chastisement if I spot a gap right down the middle?
Jealousy is always there, but not of what I drive
It’s of the balls I must be sporting to drive this thing and stay alive!
OK so it's more a limerick but hey sums up my journeying into work quite nicely!