Guest poet: Dean Parkin

The Bridge It divides and unites them; the taxi and the swish saloon who fell out at the last junction, now bumper to bumper. The Fiesta shares the blare of his music. The Mini leaves a gap, with her dreams of moving. The Rover and his mobile can't be this late already and the Escort can't wait and turns for home. The hatchback pins back her hair unaware of the Cavalier wanting more than her eyes in the mirror. The puffing Metro has to keep running, avoiding the v-signs from the boys at the back end of the bus. The estate has enough room for two with separate thoughts. The family saloon has Dad at the boot searching for sweet supplies. The Hotpoint lorry shows off a tanned elbow to the Uno in limbo in the wrong lane. Top of the Range wants to bypass this but the next car has stopped, engine off, the morning post opened. He's looking up now to the rooftop where two frisky pigeons are on the very edge.

A Man Sets Off Early For Work