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 A Sussex boyhood      41984 Poems Read


Ceaseless.(M.P.Bridger)


Thr traffic is ceaseless now.
The noise, the fumes, the pollution.
The road my Grandfather played cricket on
As a small boy...is no more.
Claimed now by councils,cars and concrete,
It still travels past our house.
Though now it roars
Screaming its presence
To those behind rattling front doors.
My Grandfather witnessed its coming
As did his father and mine.
Slowly but surely this black tarmac snake
Weaved its way, devouring gardens as it grew.
Compulsory purchase or theft?
Democratic or despotic?
Either way it's the same.
Statistics for all to see.
Animals wild and tame, dead.
Pedestrians and motorists, dead.
Roads get faster,cars get faster,lives get faster
And are snuffed out just as quick.

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