fly tipper

The settee lies not just at the side of the road
but in the ditch, halfway down the grassy verge
of a two seater relationship come unstuck.
Stunned and gasping as if reclining weight
just sent it backwards on a slow sliding sprawl.

Hollowed out cushions. Sad indentations still
bolstering not quite visible occupants. Ghosts.

Squat and ugly, it sits basking in 2:00 AM halogen
glare. Stoned and bleeding stuffing; invalid and in
denial. How did it get here ? How could it have
come to this ? Left for dead on the hard shoulder
where the hairpin bend turns savage tricks.

You blink and glance in the rear view mirror. Light
another cigarette and put your foot down in the rain.