They wish 'twould leave the road, or yield,
But soccer traffic doesn't
Till all the fans are on the field.
Then all is clear which wasn't,
Until the winner is revealed,
But then the stadium's unsealed,
And all the avenues congealed
Again, by all the masses.
Oh, would the festive soccer fans
Used public transportation,
Or other means to gather, sans
Their cars, for recreation!
But Cal- and Sam- and other Trans,
Or pooling their cars and vans,
Seem so far from their traffic plans
The flow goes like molasses.
As El Camino's tempo lags,
And as the air grows hazy,
They pound their horns and wave their flags
As if they've all gone crazy:
They tout their heroes with their brags,
And jeer their foes, and feel they're wags,
Until we wish they'd all wear gags,
Or not be quite as maffick.
Our tolerance is fairly wide,
But it must be admitted
It can't eternally abide
The license now permitted.
While fans must be allowed their pride,
We'd celebrate should all decide
The time was right for suicide,
With cheering epitaphic.
But since they're only here a while,
We'll try to grin and bear it,
Each of us hoping through that smile
He'll soon have cause to wear it;
That all the visitors, whose vile
Congestion fills us all with bile,
Will disappear, and no more rile
Our tempers with their traffic.
Originally published in SUL News Notes, July 15, 1994.
c 1994, 1995 Fleabonnet Press for the author.