The motorway hums like a mega hive, lanes boiling with urgency,

Cars biting at bumpers,

as if speed alone will save them.

 

My grip tightens on the steering wheel,

Whitening fingers stiff with ache.

Sweat dripping from every pore, 

Breath is shallow and rapid.

 

The mirror flashes with headlights

a BMW tries to kiss my tail,

impatient, prowling for weakness.

Leaving a two second gap

Only to be filled by someone in one second.

 

To my left, lorries menacingly tower over me, their bulk a wall of noise and spray,

Each gust rocks my small car,

a shiver through already brittle bones.

 

The satnav chirps calmly,

but my chest feels even tighter

with every lane change I fear to make,

I anticipate every slip-road where racers slingshot into traffic,

Uncaring of the gap they steal.

 

I count the signs like prayers:

“Services 2 miles,”

A promise of stillness, of coffee that I will not drink,

of breathing and serenity that I will relearn but will forget in minutes.

 

The motorway is cruel and endless,

A river that does not care if people sink or swim.

And yet, mile by mile,

I stay afloat, petrified but unbroken

by the roar.