M6 Motorway Blues

The cars seem to be made of lead
Petrol tank’s gummed up with treacle.
The motorway’s smeared in super glue,
Like fly paper it catches people.

The vans look like bloated slugs,
The lorries seem to be oversize snails.
Straining so slowly forward,
Hands glued to horns, to no avail.

The M6 is stuck like a scratched dvd on pause,
While we turn the air blue and vegetate.
We’re fossilising on the motorway,
Trapped helplessly at Junction Eight.


On the Train.

Writing live as I travel to Blackpool for a work presentation.

Train travel
Modern marvel ?
Overpriced coffee
Prompts embargo.
Conversation or I-phone?
We’re now at a station
Don’t flush the loo
And wash the platform.
Traveling north
Thru wind and rain.
Wish I’d charged my phone
Before I got on the train.