Ode to the Pothole

Low and supine you are spread,
Growing on rain and tread.
In streets and roads you stay,
Oh, pothole, cancer of Lae.

Trucks and cars continue to swerve,
The drivers try to hold their nerve.
They struggle to wonder why,
"No gat moni", the government cry.

Big or small, shallow or deep,
No size or limits you will keep.
Rocks and mud temporally fight,
Your all too common sight.

Inside, outside, near or far,
All but one, loathe where you are.
The one love you all around,
Luckily we can now, "Run them down".