My Country Is Highway

Re-work one of your poems Harry and Nicola

I peel myself free From my car seat Legs creak I stand up My head peeks Above a long reach Of car roofs A dim sea Stained with salt Windshields Form a beach Neon lit By these shops

We stop off

Stale human smells Meet a complex air Sand salt pollen clay We’ll stay ’Til the night Threatens us with a chill A few minutes at most In the last light of day

This bitumen patch Like the one I sulked in As a child I’d wait For the adults to shop I’m dropped In a moment like many Absorbed As a child At a stop Car park Book shop Sand salt pollen clay Faded holiday motels With names Like Pacific Wave

My country is highway A stretch of beach A pit stop My dreams stink Like the back of a fruit shop