Highway Havoc: Tales From The 401 Poem by Mervyn Graham

In the land of maple syrup, poutine, and snow,
There lies a road where only the brave dare go.
The 401, they call it with dread,
A path of chaos where even angels fear to tread.

Eight lanes wide, a ribbon of strife,
Where drivers jockey for position in the race of life.
If you think you'll find peace upon its concrete span,
You'll soon discover, it's every man for his van.

A convoy of trucks tailgating in line,
Like a parade of giants, oh so unkind.
If one is too close, fear not, my friend,
For there's always ten more, just around the bend.

At a buck ten speed, we all doth fly,
Though the limit's a hundred, we reach for the sky.
But beware, for lurking amidst the fray,
Are demerited drivers, ready to ruin your day.

Behold, the BMW, with its menacing glare,
Driven by witches with pink nails, beware!
They'll cut you off with a flick of the wrist,
Leaving you wondering, what road rage twist?

Oh, Canada, land of politeness and grace,
But on the 401, it's a different race.
Is there a toll we must pay to retain our wits?
Or have we stumbled upon the realm of road demons and pits?

So next time you venture onto this cursed land,
Brace yourself, friend, and lend a helping hand.
For on the 401, it's survival of the fittest,
Just pray you make it through in one piece, and not the witness.