Potholes across the U.S. are flourishing, with aging roads
pummeled by harsh weather and larger-than-average temperature
swings. Repair crews seem to exit each winter deeper in the hole
. New York City last year had more than triple the number of
reported potholes compared with the mid-1990s. WSJ
A pothole, looking innocent, appeared on my fair street.
I called the city to come fill it up all clean and neat.
They never came, despite the calls I placed with many folk;
I only got the runaround -- they thought it was a joke.
And slowly that wee pothole grew; twas gaining too much depth,
And slowly did it widen to a most disturbing breadth.
And so I got some filler of my own and mixed it thick,
And laid it in the pothole, thinking that would do the trick.
Imagine my dismay the morning after when I saw
That pothole still wide open, with its asphalty great maw!
It gaped like something living -- a black monster on the prowl;
Waiting to devour cars while giving a low growl.
In panic I mixed up another batch of filler, which
I loaded with some wolfbane, garlic, and even barber’s itch.
The pothole simply sucked it down, then gave a vicious belch.
Twas now a creature I alone could not pretend to squelch.
The SWAT Team came a runnin’, and the bomb squad paid a call;
In too much of a hurry, they into the hole did fall.
They never made it out alive -- we took it pretty hard.
The Governor decided to call out the National Guard.
They fired off their cannons and they threw in hand grenades.
They charged it with sharp bayonets and hoes and rakes and spades.
But all their puny efforts could not stop this pothole fiend;
The Feds came in at last to say my street was quarantined.
NASA brought in gizmos and the Pentagon surveyed
All the landscape round about, while Mike Pence loudly prayed.
A jet swooped in to drop atomic weapons on the pit.
That did not stop it growing, not a single little bit.
A refugee, I fled the scene -- now homeless and a pauper.
The pothole swallowed half the state, a cancerous deep whopper.
The scientists say that it will soon devour the East Coast,
And then, with global warming, all humanity is toast.
The stock market has tumbled and the riots never cease.
Ev’ryone is jaywalking and razzing the police.
But what care I what happens -- I’m a vagabond and lout.
But, say, I’d better tell someone that streetlights are burnt out . . .
