Sore Loser

There's too many bards on the poxy roads anyway.
It's just a bloody money-spinner. Failed
with three mistakes: undue hesitancy
at that roundabout - bollocks! If I'd
carried on we'd have needed that handbrake stop.
It's just a con! I steered my perfect verse
round the corner - he's talking total crap;
and my three-point turn was no worse
than any other sonnet. Who's he to sit
in judgement? Deciding who'll pass or not
on some official whim as he sees fit.
I did everything right, remembered the lot.
It's always too high - that raised bar -
for would-be poets learning to drive their car.