Central Reservation

The dead pigeon’s bloated body slowly glues itself to the tarmac
It’s faded grey white wing waves a mock welcome
at the lone trainer,
At the almost passing traffic.
Where are the one legged runners?

Traffic shuffles, one gear, two gears, stop.

The blue bottle
Lid
Has lost its bottle
Flung aside
Trapped in the central reservation
Companion to crushed cigarette packet,
Bearing unheeded warnings of a more permanent trap

Clutch up, clutch down, stop.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s has nothing on this
Bright Red Bull energy can.
[But it can’t]
Banana skin, brown flesh oozing, skin blackening
Another water bottle; yellow brown contents tell a desperate tale

Amber, green, red; stop.

Cardboard box
Coffin
Intact
Survived the fall, to stand curious in the wrong place

Second, third, fourth, third, stop.

Manually, Haynes has left
Torn cover behind
Feelings of frustration
A link to the broken red light cowl, the fag ends, the bottle?

Beeeep, first, second, cruise and stop.

Red brick peace
Corners smoothed by time.
How long does it take for our rough edges to leave?
Derby Rams logo blazes the red ball,
Abandoned, left to relegation limbo

Third, fourth, green, go, go, go!
Central reservation blurs, the stories hidden once more.

LizBeth Wilson

Sept 30th 2009


a poem written by Liz who said this about it...
It's not particularly related to Samhain, more a comment on time passing and how we only notice the small things when we are forced to stop.
I liked the idea of thousands of untold tales hiding in the central reservation; trapped because they can't be reached.
This hit home with the discovery of a murdered young woman's bones being found in a bin bag after 13 years on a motorway, just a few days after i wrote this poem.
I also like the whimsical in it and the random thoughts we all have in similar situations.
I wrote this stuck in traffic on the A52 into Derby.