Friday Poem

The hours stretch out
as far and flat as the surrounding plains.

In this town
‘as far as the eye can see’
is an optical illusion
and ‘are we nearly there yet?’
has long since been left unsaid.

Kilometres tick by like minute hands
steady, steady, going nowhere fast
but adding up to distance
and to dinnertime
tomorrow after tomorrow after tomorrow,

leaving the future
a horizon never reached
on the long drive home.