INCHWORM (dedicated to those wilful STOP LINE offenders)

It confounds and confuses why the so called educated

Fail to see the white line on the road

Found clearly marked at traffic signals and junctions

Yet willingly they violate the code

Recipients of lofty degrees, their actions bring them shame

For all learning disappears in the blink of an eye

The STOP LINE stares forlorn at the wilful ignorance

By bikes, cars, buses, vans and lorries that go by

Inchworms inside them raise their ugly heads

And goad them to move ever so slowly onward

Inch by inch until sufficient ground is gained

Significantly from the white line forward

For what prize, perhaps to be the first to lead

In front of the mass of vehicles, a manic need for speed

To be the seed that germinates in spring

Ahead of others , an obsessive greed

But I wonder if they realise that

In all this hurry they will only face

The stragglers journeying up ahead

The Rear Admirals of the previous race

And thus at every signal we get to see

A variation of the inchworm dance

The squeeze, the jump, from junction to junction

The eagerness to do the inchworm prance

In progression of this insatiable mania

You see those who do the inchworm glide

Slipping in between like Tetris pieces

Easing themselves with the inchworm slide

Nerves of steel, all speed and cunning

They predict accurately the change of light

And hurry away to leave the chaos

A daring dive to get out of sight

And the victors of the frontline scrimmage

Swell in secret pride for they know

That for the next ten seconds or so

They can bask in the Inchworm glow