tobacco yellow sky.
on the horizon
black trees stand like skeletons in the hedgerows.
the whine of the engine, the
whoosh of the air
past windows steamed with passengers’ breath, a
constant stream of cars lit up, with
bright white headlights,
like mechanised ants crawling from junction to junction.
flat, concrete blocks stretch overhead – bridges to nowhere in the evening gloom, my eyes
follow the red tail lights of the cars ahead in convoy
red circle – 60 limit,
aching legs and back,
black tarmac under the wheels.
a driver in a blue van cruises in the near side lane,
sparking his cigarette in the darkness of the cab,
his flame an orange point in the shadows.
weaving through the steady stream of traffic
we are swimmers in a midnight ocean of indigo, grey and brown.