Leaving

Speeding

through the night,

with the
dashboard lit up like a cockpit,

we were
inertia, we were kinetic.

This could
be an autobahn

or motorway in your language.

We
gathered momentum but

you looked
uneasy, talked fast

about the
state we were in,

and kept
one hand on the wheel.

The map
showed us where we’d been

but you didn’t
care where we were going.

You pointed
a finger at nothing in particular,

just ghosts
at the roadside

that could
have been signs.

You
would have built a wall

to keep
them out out out –

always walls
for them, not us.

I tried
to sleep, to tune out your noise.

I dreamt
of biere blonde in the Grand Place

and woke
to the sound of shortwave radio.

Then turned
and found you’d

opened the
door and exited

while we
were still driving.

Categorised in: Article

This post was written by Simon Cockle