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


highway strong.


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