My daily commute consists of a 25 minute cycle from Manchester to Failsworth, along the sometimes perilous, often wet and always holey Oldham Road. On an especially wet and dreary morning, I entertained myself while peddling by composing an ode to this dismal strip of pockmarked concrete:
Ye Oldham Road (by bicycle)
Ye Oldham Road
Ye litter-filled, carrion killed road,
My lifeline, near-death line,
Rain shine road.
National Expresses near-knock me down
And local buses make me frown,
Sometimes swear
And glare at one-eyed drivers
(Would be skivers)
On their grisly commute –
The laundry chute
For washed out workers
(Would be shirkers),
Freedomless riders
Road-raging drivers
And clowns.
Ye Oldham Road
Ye potholed, forgot-holed road
My lifeline, near-death line,
Out-of-breath line road:
Deliver me. Safely.
