In-transit

The old van has a bilious rumble tick-over
and an curdling kerbside breath to match,
a week’s papers litter the dash
which sports its own grimy plum-skin bloom
a week’s pack-up wrappers complete the tableau.
Three grey hoodies sit abreast up front
a coffee, a fag, the Sun
looking and feeling like the day
has callously caught them unawares.
The clean-me cartoon is on its way
to being submerged once again
and only three scratched hub caps match,
the other is in the undergrowth
on the slip at J13.
A paint job, the colour of old snow
Polar White
is caked in that new sticky shit
they put on the roads
to stop them icing over.
It’ll be fully light soon
already the sticky shit burnishes
the radiator in weak sun
and two of the hoodies
shift and rasp a fart.

© Graham Sherwood 03/2018