Rollercoaster

We hurtle on.
Contrasting greens blur -
sickening base for perching scruffy shrubs
asking, just asking for the rush
of a cigarette stub, a dead roll

the car thunders on
suspension compensation
for the lumps and humps, explaining
how such severe usage defers repairs
and funnels taxes elsewhere.

End of speed restriction
ditch the use of clutch or gears -
if only there was sixth, seventh, eighth
the blurs and bumps would disintegrate
into a sort of hyperspace.

Faster must be safer
our mass must be less
wafer-thin we pass through this traffic-mess
the vacuum of vehicles plying the sucking sky,
the rolled-out road apart

and in a roundabout way
we find ourselves home and in our drive, parked.
The cars a mystery - killed in time
their fate, a history lesson unread, still
please, if you ever get the choice again:
Take the train.