Get Your Kicks on the B1014
From our UK edition
He comes most nights — I hear his car pull up Outside and catch the glancing blur of lights Through curtains. Drinking Nescafe, we watch The Epilogue, laugh at the priest, then think Where to drive that night — we catalogue The usual suggestions and arrive At the same decision as usual. The road lies straight, lamps stream like amber flames Shot down the wind as we accelerate; Our talk of girls and cars, our journey’s end The all-night filling station’s ROBO-SERVE Coffee machine. That’s it — we talk until We’re bored and then drive back. It’s a routine Which kills night after night, yet always when We move, cabined, through empty streets, the half- Light seems loaded with strange drama and We thunder down an apprehensive road.