The windscreen wipers on Irish
vehicles are not symbiotically
in ratio with the rhythm of rain.

It's only at cow or rail crossings one
finds sufficient time and vision to
read what has been index fingered
on the backs of mud splattered trucks
while they were stopped on the RED.

Number protruding license plates are
already illegible, brake lights and tail
lights dimmed by that friendly dirt that
sticks like a stray dog would to you.
Impossible to discern which are which.

Indicators, but for flashing, could
be those of a Sacred Heart lamp.

    "Mobile Library Rural Service "

Elevated enough from the road to have
escaped the back wash of tandem axle'd
wheels with tyres treaded sufficiently to
pass the warrant of fitness thus capable
of ejecting sullied slime high enough into
the air to efficiently tarnish at least a four
car tail back on the medieval roading system.

At least, there was a piece of graffiti, or be
it moving art (albeit unfinished) to read.

                   I tried to join Men-
            -sa but my Haiku was a
                      wee bit too lo