So-ooo many hours of my life lost, wasted,
On this endless motorway called the M6,
Outbound, Northwards on Sunday evening,
Flying on all occasions, chasing the Satnav,
My nemesis, the ever-congested Junction 31.
Each week, verifying the need to travel,
Why does it always need to be a drive?
An arduous journey, invariably unavoidable.
Assessed the vehicle and weather conditions,
And got that imperative goodnight sleep!
On cognitive focus and attention, to negotiate,
That slow white van hogging the middle lane,
And the sneaky variable speed limits.
The incomprehensible phantom traffic jams,
And frequent roadworks and lane closures.
Dodging fallen trees in blustery winds,
And skidding vehicles over frozen puddles,
Then the odd humps, dips and potholes.
Shaken by searing cold of incessant winters,
And blistering heat of the rare summers.
But every cloud has its silver lining!
From the delightful, bright summer drive,
To splendid sundown in blossoming springtime.
Sailing past vibrant shades of autumn colors,
Even the white winter snow has its beauty!
Inbound, Southwards on Friday afternoon,
The voyage is seven hours on a good day,
Often nine, with accidents and long detours,
Played on repeat is a Tears for Fears song,
You are ‘the girl that I call home!’