It greets me twice a day, morning and afternoon
Not pleasantly like a song from the musical, Brigadoon
No, not this structure that awaits me like a vigilant spy,
reminding me of the play's song, "There But For You Go I."
Each morning it slows me down as I make my way to work
I've come to regard it as a petulant nuisance and a jerk
I crawl along at a tedious pace, often hitting the brakes,
Red lights flashing as long lines form like slithering snakes
Its tempo in the afternoon moves slower than a larghetto
Never music to my ears when I decelerate to its concerto
The horns I hear are not from an orchestra, I blow one, too
But to its maestro I must pay or he'll never allow me through
I've come to know the menace well and call it a buffoon
because of its rudeness to drivers who have to sing his tune
Then came the day I heard the toll would no longer be taken
and the rascally little cubicle was soon to be forsaken
No longer am I forced to dawdle as I drive along the road
Though I think its ghost remains, traffic has swiftly flowed
I sing along with the radio, in a pleasant voice I now croon
but never do I sing "There But For You Go I" from Brigadoon
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