and I wonder where you are

and I wonder what you do
if the road you drive is clear
and seemly with the sun
glazing eyes that look too long
at the behind
of the car in front

and where does your mind go
as it ranges those miles 
from your seat your hands, slow
and petulant the van's tyres
eat the tarmac as you
go from A to B at the behest
of your employer's schedule
of delivery
Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem