Do I look with dread
at what lies ahead?
The mist hang heavy on the hills
Shrouding all
meekly
in secrecy.
No-one knows if beauty
or eyesore is concealed
Mist, like death,
is a great leveller
of good and ill.
Our wheels soon join the endless song
of tyre on tarmac
turn by turn
until subconsciously
our hearts beat to the same relentless rhythm
We journey on through the rain
Spray splattered engineers
with words and thought less civil than their calling
struggle on.
Seeking a solution
to the flood
near junction one.
Then we'll queue
two by two
in four by four
and take our place on the M6 -
heading north
to gaze in awe
at storage options
and flat-packed solutions in
birch, oak, beach and white
with a cunningly concealed allen key
Used on day of purchase
never to be seen again.
We journey home with purchases
from location 6, in aisle 43.
At least while we were shopping,
the rain got bored and found a better place to be.
