Living and Dying on the A77
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In two years time our little town will be close to the focus of world attention, and our High Street the artery leading to that focus---- I speak ,of course, of Turnberry Golf Course, where the Open Golf Championship will be staged in 2009. I submit the following poem I was moved to write a couple of years ago, and hope it may galvanise the Tarmac Surgeons into action soon. - Edna Collie

Living and Dying on the A77 
                                      (Traffic by my  Window )
                Suddenly, no sound is heard----
                'Tis twenty past the hour, and an angel just flew over.
                Silence hangs ten seconds in the air,
                Before the buzz begins again.
                The swarm is Southward bound;
                First the sweetly sounding cars, in melodious following strains; 
                Next a headstrong youth in transit passes,
                His noxious beating thump of "music" pulses out and up,
                No more melodious than a thumping migraine.
                And now a thundering jugger trucker heaves in view,
                Roaring, rearing, then shuddering to an angry pawing stop, 
                Rattling my window panes as it holds its pent up rage;
                Then engine rev ving and wheels rolling
                it thunders off, up into High Street,
                Where, in fits and starts, it performs again
                Until at last, when through my town's sad heart,
                It reprogrammes to speeding mode,
                Hell bent on Stranraer.
                Suddenly, the all too often klaxon sounds---
                A bright blue flashing light speeds by my window;
                An ee-aw ee-aw wailer follows on,
                The motor cars move over and give way;
                Then Siren Sam blows through, all lights ablaze,
                Scattering the little roadsters in his path.
                From someone, somewhere, again so suddenly, no sound is heard.