A decade into my elderly years
My hunger to live a metaphor for the road
Roads go two ways forward and backwards
which way is your horse trotting?
Is your bike wheeling into the past
head turned back to steer avoiding traffic that is going forwards
Their smiles not at stock standard angles
harder to sell to ambitious throroughfare
My instinct kicked in
I needed the warmth and satisfaction
that a bakery might offer or refuse
Carrying expectation like a hostage wearing dynamite
Not well baked pies across the counter
but a wanting glance from the sweets exhibition
The bakery lady absent
Yet sugar loiters in the air
Back up that hill
Farm might not be there anymore
Horse and rider may not have arrived
expectation gripping the wings of the plane
Or the rudder of the ship
Blind to forward or backwards
(You may think you understood, read it again you did not understand)
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