Golf Cart Blues
By larry r Linville

He used to own a golf cart
and drove from home to the club.
He covered well the fairways
and seldom did he flub.

He could drive in bad weather
with an iced tea in his hand
and keep up with the best of them
with all four tires on the land.

Sitting at the steering wheel
he knew he still had his skill
with two nice ladies with him
he started up the hill.

Rounding corners gracefully
so well he thought he’d pop
but the nightmare soon developed
when he finally tried to stop.

He gently touched the pedal
to cause the cart to stop
but it accelerated
and at the curb took a hop.

The more he hit the pedal
the faster that missile sped
and everyone was watching
as he wished that he was dead.

He clung to the steering wheel
his rear was far from the seat
the ladies with white knuckles
tried to act so discrete.

When all the dust had settled
and they learned they all were fine
he looked down to the pedals
and then he began to whine.

He understood the feelings
of that senile guy in his town
who drove into the drug store
and could never live it down.