A crude title for a poem about a crude problem
To do your duty at the pump
is cause for pain within your rump.
It steals your joy and robs you blind
and renders you a grouch.
Yes, getting gas can make you mad,
especially if you drive a Cad.
But even Honda owners cry
to give their car a drink.
The price tag on a barrel of oil
is nothing short of criminal.
It seems, though free, we’re hostages
to those who own the crude.
Yet in all things we can give thanks
although it hurts to fill our tanks.
For while, it’s true, we pump and weep,
we have the means to pay.