Road Trip

On days such as this the road is a black mirror,

rolling out hard and long into the distance,

ridges bars of bouncing light, the tyres hot,

thrumming on coarse chip and the birds

weaving in the high thin air against the sky;

the hot air a brush on your face and

teasing your thoughts until they melt in your mind,

flick out into the rushing air to spill into the world.

And then you accelerate, reckless, and think;

nothing and everything; feel the power;

think of road trips you never had; continents, islands;

with people you trust and distrust; hand in hand,

grinning and wheeling across the hot dry land,

laughter maniacal and peeling out into a passing world:

and you are lost, subsumed, in a race all your own

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4 thoughts on “Road Trip”

  1. Hi John, This is Peter. Great piece, reminds me of the feeling of reading ‘On the Road’ for the very first time, the intoxication of the window wound down, the feel of the road galloping under the wheels. ‘Grinning and wheeling’, just how it was.

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