The Hamilton County Carousel
Poem
By: Jim Gandolf
©️05232026
Welcome to the land where the straight lines die,
Underneath a grey north-suburban sky.
Where the asphalt twists in a concrete ring,
And logic is a forgotten thing.
They tore up the lights, said the traffic would flow,
But they didn’t account for the people we know.
In Carmel and Fishers, the madness is spun,
A multi-lane circus where yield means "just run."
The residents enter a permanent daze,
Trapped like blind mice in a cobblestone maze.
They stare at the circle, their brains turning blank,
Like a runaway train with a broken fuel tank.
“Which way do I turn? Is it left? Is it right?”
They panic and shudder, frozen in fright.
So they swing to the left—the ultimate sin—
Going backward against the momentum within!
A head-on collision inside a slow curve,
A baffling display of a terrible swerve.
How do you crash where you’re all going slow?
It’s a mathematical mystery nobody knows.
No cross-traffic daredevils, no running the red,
Just pure, unadulterated chaos instead.
Two miles an hour, a crunch, and a dent,
And no one can figure where sanity went.
“The Spillover Effect”
But the horror don’t stop at the county line line,
Oh no, it’s a virus, a terrible sign.
They commute down to Indy, these roundabout fools,
And bring with them lawless, imaginary rules.
They see a red octagon, bold and so bright,
A standard Stop Sign in the clear city light.
But their brains have been broken, their judgment is gone,
They think it’s a circle! They just roll right on!
"No need to tap brakes, it's a roundabout, see?"
As they barrel right into a Crossroads debris.
So bless you, dear drivers, so utterly lost,
Orbiting endlessly, no matter the cost.
May you one day discover what "yield" really means,
And stop treating stop signs like spinning machines.
Jim Gandolf
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.