back road
revisiting childhood
through that time-gauze of greying feather,
back to a time
when the road seemed wider
but had the same volume of insanity
Dad always concrete at the wheel
Mum in the ‘Worry’ seat
sharing with Dad,
the worries sometimes reaching the backseat
as the sporadic vapours got too heavy
and did their backdraft thing
upon our small foreheads
breathing in the pockets of blackness
yet, we ride
our little bodies fading into the upholstery
the rear-view mirror