The Sandwich

Meat between air and road.
The flesh that hears the noise in
stereo.
The silent, calm trees, protrude the
gallant green carpet.
Their stillness belies the activity
surrounding them.


The crude tarmac with its patterned
coat of yellow and white lines.
Scar’s from the burden of carrying so much.
The artistry of rubber weaves its way,
Twisting and curving.


The vast expanse of blue sky.
Home to the tallest trees.
A channel for the simplest of breezes.
Birds glide and flutter undisturbed.


In this beauty the small dark cloud
emerges.
Moving quickly and deliberately.
In an instant destroying the calm
with it’s buzz.


A car screeches.
A motorbike roars.
A lorry rumbles.
A van rattles.
Car, after car, drones along the
quay road.


The helicopter cracks.
And whacks its rotor blade.
It fades away.
The traffic lights turn red.


Everything stops.
Except people.
The light tap of shoe on concrete
can be heard.
The quiet and distant mutter of voices
is peaceful.


It is short lived.
Lights turn green and the cycle
of noise returns.
On and on.


My ears, sandwiched between noise.
Pollution of the airwaves.
I am the meat.
The noise the bread.