My Country Is Highway

10 October 2018

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