In Cars

In cars, I’m him.
I make the shapes he makes –
one-handing the steering wheel
as if grasping some mane,
I cup the gear stick bulb
like it’s a brandy bowl
and coast to junctions
clutch disengaged
scared as sharks to stop,
though on open road
I’ll box in better cars than mine,
a sudden stickler for the limit
I slap down and squeeze your knee
celebrating damming flow,
carbon monoxide whistling
from a leaf-choked vent.

What damage we do in cars.
I twist in my seat
then back up, bump bumpers,
wrench the handbrake;
it will take two smaller hands to undo.

That look in the mirror is all about me.
My shirt sticks.
In cars I’m him: you drive.

thCAQXRWAW

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About grahamcliffordpoet

Graham is an award winning poet, based in London. He graduated from the University of East Anglia with an MA in Creative Writing, and has since published nationally and internationally, winning many awards and performing at some of the most prestigious and well known Literary Festivals. His debut collection, The Hitting Game, is published by Seren.
This entry was posted in cars, creative writing, driver, how to live, modern art, poetry, swindon, taxi driver, Uncategorized, Writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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