Night Drive

What you get
Is midnight on the M25.
Orange burning through your night vision goggles,
A picture of her
Looking beautiful in
Somebody else?s photograph.
What you get is a girl to make love to
After the show.
Forever.
What you get is a bowl of cigarette butts
And an e-mail
One
Maybe two months later.
The: ?Hey. How ya doing?? brand of regret.
What you get is a bank statement,
Documenting your triste,
Or a wisp of rancid smoke,
Disappearing into lungs
That never sang like that.
And the garden?s been tamed.
And the hole in the door you got mad at
Has been filled.
And painted over.
And someone else lives there now
Anyhow.
What you get is midnight on the M25
And a thing that wont die.
Not a roach.
Something bigger,
Like black.
And what you get is a bottle of pills,
The Christmas catalogue,
A weeks shopping
Dragged home on the number 7.
What you get is a house.
A car.
A man.
A kid.
Another car.
Another kid
And midnight on the M25
With your house, man, kids and cars asleep in the back.
What you get is someone?s love.
For a price.
And the lie that: ?This is just for you.?
This half-life you never even asked for.
This medicated sleep at the end of the day.


Vanessa Austin Locke

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