Tuesday, 12 January 2016

A Poem A Day 2016 / 012


Lifts to Longbridge

Ray's driving his mini cooper, wipers
going crazy but failing to stem the wash
of torrential rain from the windscreen.
At twenty-something he's overweight
and wears a woollen cap to disguise his baldness
but in reality, it emphasises it.
The Beatles on his 8-rack but how many kids
wish they hadn't been called 'Michelle?'
She Loves You but she doesn't, does she? At seventeen
my sister stares out of the passenger side window,
lost in thought of the boy her father didn't like
while I, twelve years old and wedged in the back
am just grateful for the lift. He hangs around her
most days, his moth to her naked light and we
know he's going to get burned and then
there will be no more lifts to Longbridge.

© Rachel Green 2016

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