With paper towels and bottle-spray
The windshield now I clean today
From inside out, and outside in;
I’ve wiped and scrubbed and sprayed again.
(Ironic that before I’m through
I’ve wipe beneath the wipers, too.)
Then satisfied, I smugly beamed
For look at how my windshield gleamed!
But hours later, on the road
The setting sun now serves to goad
My pride. For look what now appears:
A sea of streaks! Of smudges! Smears!
The lesson gleaned from this is terse:
At times, a problem’s fix is worse.
Don Munday, firstname.lastname@example.org