I am snapped trees and fallen rocks,
hair pins and badgers crossing,
spike strips and sorry.
You drive a little slower every time
I cry ‘left’ after you’ve wrongly gone right.
‘OK, I’ll be more careful’, you whisper
in no particular direction. You adjust your seat
and mirrors, 9-and-3 the steering wheel.
I am littered with guilt and roadkill
and lost grip on thinking up new ways
to explain. Have you never seen a cat cross a river
like a skipping stone?
Forget about collecting all the coins
or unlocking every question mark; press B for turbo.
Go flat out through my roadblocks.
Drift around my cut corners.
Do donuts in my eggshells.
Lay down your name
in burned rubber
on my tarmac.
I am a bumpy road
best driven by a reckless driver.
==
This poem first appeared in Strix – #12, Summer 2024.
