The Innards of the M1
lie exposed. Shocking coral gash
against the everyday grey. A strip of skin
peeled back, surprised.
Does the motorway hurt? Does it know
how vulnerable it is? Traffic slows
as drivers stare at what we shouldn’t see.
By the time I drive home
it will be covered. Fresh black
bright tarmac. Scar-stitched
over the carriageway. I won’t forget.
Will let its injury settle in my head,
feel my own torn skin healing
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