Haulier passing The Red Cow Roundabout, 11.15pm
I just want to be home, is that too much to ask?
Even when asleep I see white lines, hard shoulders,
Automated cranes on foreign wharves loading ships,
I see that final container that I still have to deliver,
The one that always seems to keep me from home,
I see tailbacks and blockades and upturned wreckage,
Docksides where I smoke when sleep refuses to come.
The blonde teenage hiker incessantly pulling a comb
Through her hair as she climbed up into my truck,
Strung out on heroin, falling asleep on my shoulder
With the same smile as my thirteen-year-old daughter.