In the fast lane playing chicken,
lick my lips
the car starts flipping
over and over or is it me?
Thrown free from the automobile
I can feel the wind rushing as it pushes its way
into the wreck of my day
but it’s me that will pay for going so fast,
the wind rushing past lets me know that there’s nowhere to go but to the tarmacadamed street
and that my body will meet with some pain.
I think that’s what fast lanes are for
to remind you there’s more to this life than the fun which you have when you’re speeding,not reading, the signs of the road.
This load I can bear, until I find you there all broken and bruised and more than slightly confused about what has occurred
and if I dared to explain about my speed in the fast lane
I don’t think that you’d ever trust me again
so I remain
tight lipped,tripping on my tongue
Not as much fun as I thought.
copyright © John Smallshaw all rights reserved