Uneven Roads

Uneven roads have wearied me at last,
The ruts, the soft edge, all the dust and grime
In high midsummer, and the ice and slime
In winter, all those drivers rushing past
Along these roads to nowhere. They move fast,
Too quick to catch, and, turning on a dime
They whip away. There's never enough time,
And too much rotten roadway, dark, half-assed.

They tell me life, too, is uneven. True,
But not a big surprise. Catastrophe
Is usual, and our tenacity
Might get us out, or in, of any stew.
I don't like driving, though the car is new
And spring is best for roads here, certainly.