The radio sniffling some song out, and
our ears are on high alert, drawing
conversation to the fringes, as cigarette
ash tumbles out the wound-down windows,
the car idling with us like a lover's sleeping face.
Queuing up in the drive-thru we felt itchy,
as if we were watching lottery balls land
while chewing our tickets; like a mobile
ringing at the back of the theatre, we were
desperate to be muted, forgotten, satisfied.
And we bin the fast-food and guzzle more
cigarettes, drive... through endless green
lights flicking over to late amber, past
drivers tapping fingers on steering wheels,
windscreens snatching warped ghosts.
And the zebra crossings stripe under us,
as the radio station goes off the air, and
we are left listening to the silence, as a
speed camera gets another dumb picture,
its bluesky flash dribbles off the car.
(c) Stu Hatton 1998
http://wordyness.blogspot.com/2005/03/drive-thru-1998.html
our ears are on high alert, drawing
conversation to the fringes, as cigarette
ash tumbles out the wound-down windows,
the car idling with us like a lover's sleeping face.
Queuing up in the drive-thru we felt itchy,
as if we were watching lottery balls land
while chewing our tickets; like a mobile
ringing at the back of the theatre, we were
desperate to be muted, forgotten, satisfied.
And we bin the fast-food and guzzle more
cigarettes, drive... through endless green
lights flicking over to late amber, past
drivers tapping fingers on steering wheels,
windscreens snatching warped ghosts.
And the zebra crossings stripe under us,
as the radio station goes off the air, and
we are left listening to the silence, as a
speed camera gets another dumb picture,
its bluesky flash dribbles off the car.
(c) Stu Hatton 1998
http://wordyness.blogspot.com/2005/03/drive-thru-1998.html
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