I had some thoughts on the common road. At the side of the motorway, I saw a sign a’hanging. It told me it was the road to Wigan Pier, which spiked my bookshop memories and led me to thinking about why I write.
The clock on the dash said 19:48 and I wondered if, in the future, there’d ever be a 19:84. I pondered Kipling and Dali, and holidays gone by ~ having been both down AND out in Paris and London.
I drove, and drove, and carried on driving, contemplating how the poor die due to the politics of starvation, and wondering if I could ever improve how they live. Falling out of the car at the seafront for a breather, I saw the reflection of the moon under water, wetly undulating as if it were coming up for air.
I was one of The English People, that was all. Whichever turn I would take, this was my country, right or left. In order to continue, all I’d require would be poetry and a microphone. O’Well…..