Old Boy Racer

I’m pushing sixty in a thirty zone
with a red light straight ahead.
All the boy racers I have known
are well and truly dead.

And all the youngsters look at me
with blank incomprehension,
ask why I drive so crazily
when so close to my pension.

The answer is quite easy.
I must outrun my curse.
For the blue light right behind me
is fixed on to a hearse.