Musings on the M6

...Into an unsettled mist, which Chokes the narrow stretched lane. The bated breath, of a thousand Unknowns, travelling home. Heading south, vision a bit Uncertain, and dazed by the heavy Pounding of striking wet dashes, Bouncing loud upon the bonnet. Splashes of rain spit forth, across The mucky stained glass of the Rusty vehicle. A beautiful coat of Acid rain Droplets. In the near distance, a smudged Yellow and red ink outline-that of The next car-just barely visible to Those, ageing eyes. So thick-a dense, anxious air, Gathers inside this bubble with Chairs. What a grand stand view, if Ever there was, of the road before! As lane by lane, they stack up. Smoke...on the horizon. Blue lights Screaming from left then to right, As something circles high above, ********************* Weaving in and out of the hard Crimson mist. What? A bird? Perhaps a rook-or two-maybe a Crow? Driven by a natural born instinct, to Scavenge and stab at the exposed, Torn, pink, rotting, road-kill, tossed Upon the verge. A sudden ring startles him, Vibrating from on the dash. A cell Phone beckons. Some contact from Outside of the little bubble at last. It's a familiar voice. But not one of Favour or calming words. Just some Suit with a lotta' loot, whose Pristine image is but a facade. ******************** The bloke in Macc says to come Straight back, to meet him outside Of the little Tie Rack, by the guy With the Issue, a bloke called Jack. Returning to what? From out of the Depths of sour, thickened, drip Wet wilderness, to that of the silk Town no more? What a crude old banger from the Eighties! With no such thing as five Speed-for who needs to get from A To B without heed? ******************** The fellow in the mirror stares Back. Worn rugged and quite Unkempt. Bushy beard, a stocky Build. Eyes dull and watery. Back in the day, more of an effort Would've been made, not so much These days or even today. No Way, No time to work, rest and play. The dirty yellow-ness of nicotine Stained teeth. Pairing a cracked Grin. Now on forty a day, puffing Endlessly away. A nice memory from an old habit From childhood-from back in the Day-when kids would play, back in The day-in that silly, childish way. A sigh, then a huff. Too tough. Rush, rush, push, that's all 'they' do Is rush an push. Rush and push Amongst the rat-race-oh hush! His closed mobile handset, shows The child and the child's mum and The child's father, looking happily Back. Going back. The voice on the programme blarts Something about an accident up Ahead, due to freakish weather. As The teenage girl sings on the radio. Crap music though, not of my Generation, or maybe it was? Maybe it wasn't? Switch channel please, but no! The weather has had its way, Nothing on medium wave. Moving A bit now, slowly, but forward, 'Drive carefully-spray' so they say, What a way, on neon lit signs that Hang without purpose overhead. Metropolitan nightmare! Give me The fair green hills any day. Who would care, to stare, or listen To the dull, nostalgic ramblings of a Tired clapped out old banger? Couldn't we turn back the clocks? Only for one hour. Perhaps. No! Such foolish and ridiculous Thoughts. Do grow up man and get With the programme! You ain't twelve years old no longer Living with your nan, nor three Days a baby, being pushed in your Pram, On display to passers-by who are But strangers who stop with fond Curiosity, to say hello to a beautiful Little baby boy. How fickle. Back. Go back. Wishful thinking. Back. If only we could. Back. What a Beautiful dream that would be? Would it not? Out of mind, away From this lot. Or not? So what! Who Cares? Me? Never! Not. Forget me not. Its way too much for one to Compare if one so much as bothers Ones thoughts. One aside. Live. But, inside. Denied. Stuck on this broken down Fairground ride. There's Movement, if less than a snails Pace, demonstrating little grace. The family back home is where This heart wants to be, not here With lazy memories alone to Ponder. Pondering, a changed place, now Unrecognisable. Longing for a return. What kind of return? How Could I return? To a return worth longing for? I drift Away, back to when happiness Come what may, would fill a heart Out of time, night and day. But a haze has fallen, clouding the Way. Home sweet home, to be There, today, is all one can say. Home sweet home. Perfect, still, quiet and warm, Watching the sun break at dawn, Upon the tiny window bay. But it is Home to me. Home, either way.