We may be broke dollar-wise, but we’re rich in potholes!
Let’s celebrate our wealth with some appropriate limericks.
There was a pothole in Cloquet
That was always, somehow, in the way.
When your car took its pounding
The noise was astounding
And bolts were seen rolling away.
A pothole in Inver Grove Heights
Was replete with suburban delights.
It had flora and fauna
A dock and a sauna
And mini-golf under the lights.
In an ancient pothole in St. Paul
Hieroglyphics were found on one wall
But their worth was debunked
by each car that ka-chunked
and the water that blasted them all.