I once made love
under a motorway subway
in the greasy diesel night.
I thought before Monza
it might have been a turnoff,
but it was yet another sliproad.
Her signs were pointed to GO,
licked flashes of red
inbetween her highway lanes.
We made traffic jams
in a roundabout sort of way,
she always kept
my service station filled,
oil piston pumped on the verge.
