The Wilder Mile
She ran right over me ….
Across the motorway footbridge
At a perfectly carefree tangent to the traffic,
Her long, brown hair streaming behind her
Glowing gloriously in the lengthening light
Of the late afternoon sun.
She was all freedom and free spirit
And breathlessly bound for the beckoning Surrey greenery,
Confined to our air-conned, black-topping tin cans,
Stop-started in our serried ranks
To the sick tune of Kafka, Huxley and Orwell’s
Dark distopian machines
Of still darker demons and imaginings,
As they conducted, instructed
Admonished and punished
Our every minute and mile
Almost ad infinitum
[Well at least all the way to our destination].
May time and tide daily divert me
From the course of the rank and the file
And take me to that tender tangent
To walk the wilder mile.