Saturday 17 August 2019

Stopped Feck Traffic


Stopped Feck Traffic 
a poem by 
A M Donaghey

 As I sit in the traffic with hazard lights flashing.

Irate drivers behind me, clench fists of frustration.

They think it’s my fault, that my car has stopped moving.

And I’m fuming inside that my motors not turning

I open the door and step out on the road

All the drivers, they watch me, and most of them loath.

Grab one hand on the wheel and I steer to the side

Feel like a gazelle, singled out by the pride.

I push the dam car, clear the way for the jury.

They’ve already judged as I see from their fury.

Beeping their horns as a sign of disgust

Swear words on their lips that they readily thrust.

What else can go wrong on a Monday like this?

Wish I didn’t get up, stayed in warm bedded bliss.

For there’s always tomorrow, if I get through this day.

Oh, feck cars and feck traffic, and the hate that they pay




I had posted three poems on this blog, but deleted them as I wanted to enter them in a literary competition up home in Donegal. I was sure I would have a chance to win something or even get the poem published. But, after sending in the poems and paying the entry fee, I didn’t even get a mention. I had read the winning poems from the 3 or 4 years before and thought I would have a good chance. I know my work isn’t perfect, but I didn’t even get an acknowledgment other than an email stating that they received payment for the entry fee which was sent with the poems. I mean, how hard is it to set up an auto email that would thank you for the contribution? I have yo say, it put me off ever entering anything like this again.
 In fairness the winning poems were of a high standard, but the fact I didn’t even get a thank you for the entry, well that was very poor.
OK, now about this poem Stopped Feck Traffic. When I was doing art in college a few years ago, we were asked to provide some personal writing for communication class. I didn’t really have anything, but driving back home, my car broke down and I wrote this wee poem. The word Feck (in the title) is an Irish slang word that is a kind of fill in word that means frustration. I think frustration is the nearest word I can think of, and the word Feck is also used instead of fuck. For example, if you drop something or make a mistake, you could say “FECK” or “FECK IT” or someone bothers you, you can call them a Fecker or tell them to "Feck off". It is not an offensive word, like the fuck word, but is as a milder more humorous version of it. Also the word feck is not used in the sexual way as fuck is used. Not sure if that has clears things up, but that is my interpretation of it. 
I will post my two other poems in a few days.

As before, thank you for reading my blog and please feel free to make a comment.  

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