Today’s poem

PAY AT PUMP

At 7.15 this morning, a battle

had been won, I’d taken my little Kia out

for its battery-charging run, A routine that I’ve followed

for many stressful weeks, That car that I depend upon, has had its troughs and peaks, Because I rarely use it, the

battery lets me down, So I drive it round the local block, just going round and round, But doing this, the petrol gauge causes me to get the hump, Something that I’ve dreaded, now got to pay at pump. Now to you this may seem

silly, unnecessary stress, But to me, a geriatric, it’s

like a game of chess, I’ve Googled and consulted

videos on the net, To find out how to fill my car

but I hadn’t tried it yet, So, as I said, this morning I

girded up my loins, Made sure I had my Mastercard, there was no need for coins. I admit I was in shaky mood,

as I parked next to the pump No witnesses to see me fail,

no one to see a chump, ‘Pay at the pump’ the text was clear, that shouldn’t be too hard, I followed the instructions;

in went my debit card. ‘Pin number now required,’ my index finger went to work, ‘Remove your card’ and so I did, I couldn’t resist a smirk. Unleaded gurgled happily,

as I heard the Kia sigh, I made a silent promise,

that she’d never get so dry. Back in the car, I felt relief, as I looked back at the pump, I sneered at it and said out loud: ‘You’re just a muted lump, You think you are superior, well mate, you’ve had your chips, You only work because of us and our tender fingertips.’

Charlie Horner, Bognor Regis, W. Sussex.