This Older Driver
I want our lowering sun to burn
for a much – much – longer last hour –
or more – and brighter than now
I do not want to be driving
on those sunken country roads
into the skulk of dusk’s gloom –
and then turned back through black
I wish to see clearly tonight where
the patch of tarmac starts and ends
on the threaded bends and turns –
without the switch of dipped lights
or the blinding others’ high beams –
they set me to groping
as a blind man gropes
I’ll weave between the unseen deer