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There is a hollow at the bottom of the road,
It fills up with muddy water when it rains,
There is a man who lives around the corner,
Calls the County Council and complains.
They send an engineer out in an Audi,
He can't be more than sixteen and a half,
With a notebook and a ruler and a iPhone,
He surveys the scene and takes a photograph.
A band of jovial workmen then move in,
Their skills and graft determined to apply,
But they never ever come when it is raining,
They always seem to come when it is dry.
A cordon of road signage is erected,
Markings on the road in yellow chalk,
A digger and a roller and some shovels,
Create a pathway for pedestrians to walk.
In earnest consultation with each other,
They set to work on the vexatious hollow,
And if begun with the coming of the cuckoo,
It may be ended by the leaving of the swallow.
When done they'll have modified the camber,
They'll have realigned the contour of the drains,
But that's a pesky persistent stubborn hollow,
It still fills up with muddy water when it rains.
By Paddy Mulhern
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