Driving

Sucking on a tangy seat-belt 

buckle for as long as my tongue 

can handle. Are we nearly there 

yet? Just seven real minutes pass,

but a whole lifetime of longing 

has passed for seven year old me.

Excited and eager, I squirm 

for my freedom, but time stands still

but time speeds on just above the

speed limit and I convince my

self I'm car sick and stare out of the 

window in an attempt to force 

the spider in my gut to sit 

still and Mum asks, What's a baby

swan called? And we never know

the answer and time just stands still

but it crashes on and on and 

now I reflect on reflections

of C.S. Lewis and realise

that I can find my joys and my 

despair within ancient songs and 

Dad glances over and is it 

just retrospect or did we both 

think that this was the last time and

that this was the first time that it

was me at the wheel, calluses

eroding on the sand-paper

surface. As I take a corner 

at just above the speed limit 

a millipede dances on Dad's 

heart and then rests as we squeal to 

a halt. We gasp, breathe and laugh and...          time trundles on.