We are in the car looking
for a digger on the motorway.
Or a tractor. Or an ambulance.
Anything to make you happy.
I look at the vein in your neck
and I am 12 years old and not your dad.
I’m on a 24 hour coach to France
or Germany or Mars. We are looking
for anything out of the window.
We’ve eaten all our sweets
and the TV at the front is too quiet
for us to hear the film Miss chose.
We don’t know what to say to the girls
on the row next to us. So we became
rappers. Trickster J and Snazzy C,
hitting you up with a 1, 2, 3.
Tractor! You yell. I’m 35 and my rhymes
are getting lamer.
© Carl Burkitt 2022