Dad Runs Out of Petrol, 1962
There’s nothing for it but to bed down here.
Roll the car a little further down the forest track,
decamp to the back seat; get the dog to …
Sit! Try to forget the steamed up windows,
all-night panting, saliva in your hair,
the cold, how she’ll worry where you’ve got to.
To think just last weekend you drove this road,
your three sons in the back, quite the hero,
whisking them away from Cuban missiles.
At dawn, sun will appear through that gap
in the trees, and you can walk off to re-fuel.
Don’t be fooled by the sodium lights
from a distant town, where kids lie in beds
with matching linen, and husbands are downstairs
talking seriously to their wives.
Page(s) 57
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