in the middle of a day so hot it seemed static.
If people marked their purposes
across the ground as they moved forward,
you would have clearly seen where his ended:
left hand side of the M1
veered off course
bank steeper than he thought.
two closed motorway lanes bake beneath the relentless sun,
The funeral procession of traffic keeps its distance.
Packages dribble like sweat
from the roof of the overturned lorry.
The driver’s cab,
vacated in a sickening split second,
glistens beneath the sun that bid him farewell.