Car travel,
Long repeated journeys,
Over remembered corrugations.
Pot holes and blind corners,
Wildlife hot spots.
The car filled with detritus of unemployed children:
Wrappers, hair ties, odd socks, empty water bottles and discarded toys.
Chorus from the backseat:
"What town is this?
Are we stopping here?"
Your mind wanders,
As do your eyes into a stranger's life.
Till a close call with oncoming traffic,
Draws your attention abruptly back.
You think through the day,
Your week, your life.
Re-run or plan discussions in your head.
You try to keep your eyes focused,
Ignore their drooping fatigue.
Prolonged travelling,
This is the tiring reality,
Of those who choose to live in the bush.
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