road

Dear readers - 

sorry for the long hiatus! and sorry for the removed tagboard x) i'll see about putting it back up! In the meantime, here's somewhat more of a performance poem, cos it needs a special rhythm to make it work. but ah well read on!

Dashboard

In the tiny front-dash drawer of his coughing four-wheel drive
He keeps a little plastic-bag that catches all his fears –
The cigarette-butts that light the random fires of his life
And the tissue-sheets that soak the thoughts that run between the gears.

That little bag, It holds his guilt-trips back to yesterday,
It sees his heart slip through his teeth in every wave of pain,
It tears the coupons, flicks the bits he rips along the way,
It wraps his mind and fends the howl of passing winter rain.

Sometimes he takes a joyride, flying through the traffic-jams,
Escaping time, the road to nowhere takes him far from home.
Yes this bus without a number soon becomes an empty tram,
He reaches to the bag for some remembrance of his roam.

This bag holds too the sunny spots where darkened circles meet,
The smiles that friends and loved ones leave as they pause at traffic-lights –
But also prints and snapshots of unknown and nameless feet,
The feet of friends he never met who share his weary flights.

A bag that knows no bottom like a ride that has no end,
A collage of his troubles and a knot of paradise,
A bag that holds the undeserved favours of a friend,
A bag that sees this car, his life, as it wraps its path and dies.