Juggernaut
Lovely the sunlit dawns; beautiful, too,
Such dusks: their pastels paint the air with light
And brush soft colours onto clouds in tones
Which, through my consciousness, induce delight.
But lorry-driving is no pleasure-jaunt
Uncomplicated by frustrating ills
Of mental effort, physical demands
And technical or calculating skills…
Surrounded by close fleets of other craft,
All sailing at their self-determined rates
And loth to cede priority, large ships
Are safe – freight-laden in shoal-littered straits –
Compared with lorries in thin traffic-lanes
Congested by the vehicles of these
Which clog our cities, towns and villages
Absorbed within their own anxieties.
Reading a small-print book free-falling down
Through miles of space could not need greater thought
Than this, the reading of such jam-packed roads
In charge of some great jouncing juggernaut.
Calm concentration is the key; slick art
To accurately fit manœuvres in
Taking account of traffic, obstacles,
Roadworks, lights, cyclists and pedestrians.
Along the moving miles I weave and roll
Under mass-liquids’ ceaseless surging tides,
Or sway and wallow at my truck’s controls
By potholes jarred and cross-winds thrust aside.
Vast distances I traverse daily, closed
In artic-cabs with monstrous trails asway,
Or through blear night-lights trundle like a train
Upon some unreserved permanent way.
Rolling through places I have never seen
To destinations I have never known –
Stiff-necked and muscle-pained, eye-strained, ear-dinned
By constant noise; juddered in every bone –
But, soothing the stress in my jolting cab
Of such hard labour’s cares and bringing peace;
How beautiful the sunlit painted dawns
And pastel dusks which never fail to please!.
