Harriet in her Chariot

Harriet sat in her chariot

considering her options;

because her chariot had broken down.

Should she carry it back

to where she came from?

or should she await rescue

from a roadside chariot recovery service?

She waited like a clown.

Harriet, checked the weight

of the vehicle – it was very heavy indeed –

and, for that, the strength of Hercules

she would quite probably need.

If she left it there,

it would soon be gone,

stolen by a thief;

but, to stay, and wait

for some possible help;

aroused her disbelief.

None would come;

they might be fierce;

crooks and rapists;

or despicable Papists;

louts, who could barely stand up;

and, worst of all,

no one with the correct spanner,

an appropriate manner,

and a banana bandana

to keep away the Sun.

Harriet slowly counted up to X –

well, she was a Roman woman,

and that is what you counted up to then.

For all I know,

she may still be there,

Harriet, and her chariot,

both, now, well beyond repair.

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