...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.