My car stands on the driveway,
Hardly driven for weeks,
The music in the glove box,
Virtually unplayed.
The satnav screen is blank,
Where is there to go?

Dust and bird shit thicken,
Dulling bright tornado red,
The shiny green tomorrow
Since denounced as dirty diesel.
Mis-sold, misled, mistaken,
Now profits have been made.

In a carbon neutral future,
We will still desire the speed,
Turning sounds up louder,
As the motorway reveals
Mysterious destinations,
Mixing memories and dreams.

Steve Bishop


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