A DEAD FOX ON THE MOTORWAY

Going at seventy,

I must have glimpsed you

in the central reservation

for only a second.

Yet, in the motorway of my mind,

there is so much time;

I see you and see you.

If only you'd reached the other side, I say.

I've said it to myself since -

in the shower,

while lighting candles

on a birthday cake,

in the biscuit aisle of Aldi.

If only you'd reached the other side.

You, who crossed three lanes untouched.

Imagine! The audacity!