Unresolved

The M60 is a relentless road, the endless bend:
nuts, nutty; round the bend I notice a helicopter.
Its pilot Captain Bird eyes the view: a basic, too
crowded Scalextric set orbiting Manchester city.

Hazard-lights like silent sirens, brake lights cry,
Aye lad, there's trouble by the closed mill, where
trucks merge via the fast lane. Anorexic lanes.
Who put their name to this mess? Let heads roll.

Here, at last, why I'll be late meeting my mates:
a Ford Concertina. Front wheel snug at the back.
I'll give you any description as long as its black.
And I don't even think this obvious morgue job

is the reason I started to sob. I didn't know then
it was a kid with Pokemon cards and dreams.
But, shrugging, we knew we'd be back on here
tomorrow. Back to work. In circles. Just maybe,

this time, things might get the better of us. Crash.