Just for the ride

 
Just for the ride I said
just for the ride.
Bright sun, lit up the road
its statute limit sixty
that he kept and we relaxed
Halesowen our destination.
Its geography new to me
read it in the papers,
somewhere where cars come from,
factories, daffodils and fire station
flat roof, red paint and tower
slip by in ordered profusion
along the switch back road.
Signs to Bridgnorth, sand stone church
black and white and steam
down the Severn Valley,
just for the ride.
Left on the road to Enville
passed coriander fields and plastic sheets
Wolverhampton to the east.
Clent hills and Malvern summits
rise naked from their bed of earth,
green all round. beyond the window panes,
just for the ride.
Passed brick of labourers homes
and stone of wealthy dukes
with coal and iron, limestone quarries,
beauty when the land is yours!
Rolling hills and sparkling streams
now brown and muddy cuts
few wish to live here scorn the scruffy streets
as they pass between lopped limes,
just for the ride.
Factories clinging to the countryside
bereft of paint and glamour
making seats and steering wheels
day and night welding torch and clamour
regular jobs and safe at least,
night school if you’re lucky,
empty pubs where once they laughed
just for the ride.
Trapped and screaming soccer pitch
woodlands here and there,
willing willows yellow-green,
poplars playing catch-up;
optimistic Camellia, its yellow leaves
defy the limey ground
at least they try and cheer my way
just for the ride.
In half an hour we leave,
the computer in the back
along the country roads again
where we belong, wiser now by far,
well worth the trouble,
just for the ride.