He’d only had the car a week
The sort of car collectors seek
Long and low and fast and sleek
No dints or bumps or single squeak
But then today whilst he was out
His son gave his three mates a shout
I’ve got the keys for dad’s new car
He won’t know, we won’t go far
How far is far when it’s such fun
To have the top down in the Sun
Shouting out to every girl
As they give the car a whirl
Up to eighty, ninety, Ton
Like a bullet from a gun
A sorry tale and sad to say
No one walked away, that day
Photo credit: Pinterest
A Badly Chewed Pencil 
Would a “tut-tut” be in order here?
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I don’t know… The trouble with joy riding is that it happens every day.. somewhere… and often with the same end result.. Sadly…
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One of the lighter stories of such, though is from when I was a claims handler and This young man had just gotten his license and went out for a drive to show off and saw some girls he knew walking across the street. He started yelling and waving and wrecked the sides of three parked cars.
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Brilliant (again). Just relieved that I haven’t appeared in a poem yet. It spells doom!
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