Creeping. Crawling.
Blacktop drawling.
Get in lane and join the queue,
Of a Monday morning,
Nose-to-tail,
Gridlocked M62.
Signs flashing
Overhead, warning “40’s
All you oughta”
Do, but your needle view
Shows you’re doing
Barely less than quarter.
There’s a wagon
Inching past you,
It’s ladder-laden high.
You wonder if each step
Carried onboard could
Reach up to the sky.
And peeping through the
Hedges as the sliproad
Slips on by,
The weathered, whiskered Colonel,
Grins out at you, cos that’s what he do,
That ol’ Southern, finger licking guy.
(M62 Motorway, Eastbound. 28.02.2022)
Gavin Dimmock. Writer. 