Tarmac For Breakfast
David Brown
Tarmac for breakfast, tarmac for lunch, tarmac for supper too
I eat the white lines one at a time but I’m still no closer to you
The country’s full of contra-flow
An endless maze of orange cones
With more holes than a track in Iraq
They should give me my road tax back
Truckers watching movies on the dash
It’s a miracle more don’t crash
They piss in bottles when they get the urge
And toss Trucker’s Tizer all over the verge
Out of the way you de-frocked Priest
Sunday drivers every day of the week
Look at the jerk in the Jaguar
You just know he’s driving home from a bar
And the ass in the Aston drop-head
On the phone – don’t get me started
Another truck has shed another load
Like the Daily Mail said “why don’t they grit the roads?”
There’s a distance between us
A two-chevron gap
I don’t know what can redeem us
Or who’s in the front and who’s in the back
Haven’t moved for an hour now
A steel necklace choking up the town
Nose-pickers to my left and right
You didn’t pick up again last night
There’s always roadkill on this stretch
Lonely Lemmings I suspect
Throwing themselves beneath the wheels
I sometimes wonder how that feel
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