There can be only one word for you,

the type of driver

who takes great pleasure

to be sat behind the wheel of a car,

dry, safe, singing along

to their favourite Nazi beat, all

tight on the rhythm

and with the smug sense

of critical recognition

in their eyes,

for what else

goes on in that brain,

the instrument of cruelty,

that makes you speed up

where the pool of water collects

in ocean like puddle,

tramp steamers finding the waves to rough,