Droppings On My Car Poem by Phil Soar

My car is target practice
And their aim is off the mark
They drop their 'bombs' from up on high
And sometimes in the dark
They wait until I've washed the car
And then they all let fly
I haven't usually got that far
When missiles leave the sky
And though I move to wash it off
The splatter hardens fast
I know that it won't last that long
Till there's another blast
There must be something radar-like
That tells them when to start
They never hit my motor bike
Or just let out a fart
The time has come for me to learn
And hide my car from sight
And maybe then they'll go elsewhere
And drop all of their shite





Will