Pushing it to a hundred
flanked by paperbacks and pines.
Their branches tremble,
startled by the high-beam halo.
drowning out the engine.
Singing the choruses and
dipping lights for oncomers.
Mumbling the verses
and slowing to eighty
through Balnarring and Hastings.
heading for the city,
the freeway and the lights.
Leaving the winter coast
and the house without curtains
for another weekend.
Reading this, I'm reminded of the song Animals by The Guild League, which begins:
Clouds of feathers fleece and foam,
halfway to my childhood home.
In the car and on my own,
white lines where the road is sewn.
Stitches holding down the car,
beside the sun under the stars.
Through the evening coloured so
like pink champagne and eye-shadow.
It's on their album Inner North (buy it here)