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.
