The Ring Road

I watch from under

The shade of the fly-over.

The ring road squeezes the city

Into prolapse.

The sky closes for business

And the clouds fold over,

Like a restless sleeper's duvet.

A sun-flare splits the grey fade

Of the post-rush hour queue.

I don’t think that the commuters

Can see the heard approaching.

A hot breeze whispers

Through skeletal trees.

I can see the horses racing

Up the dual carriageway.

The Ikea sign is melting, and

Flaming hooves are pounding

Over the blackened bones

Of roadkill and exhaust pipes.

The harras rages

Through the heat haze shimmer.

Their manes are ablaze.

With unstable diamond eyes

And the stars in their teeth,

They unleash

Beautiful incineration

On to the idle traffic.

Flashes of orange and red caress

Idle wing mirrors.

I see the fire-heard

Race through the barrier and

Leap across the fly-over.

Mirrored windows kiss

The glare of a new

Temporary sun.

There will be no hard-shoulder

To cry on this evening.

One day I will press my foot

Down on the accelerator, and

Catch up with the stampede.

Like Pegasus on fire.

The ring road will collapse

Into the folded over sky.