Accident On The Motorway

We set off on our holidays in a rusty green van,
moving in the direction of the sun,
past fields and trees and farms,
the country air lifting our spirits.  

We’re speeding along the motorway
when the van starts to shudder and horns toot warnings at us.  
Something is wrong.
In the back compartment, my brother and I stare at the door,
holding our breaths, waiting, not daring to speak.

The vehicle swerves across the motorway lane,
closer to the hard shoulder,
where an embankment lies below.  

Still, nobody speaks.

We burst across the hard shoulder and onto the grass beyond,
tearing down a hill out of control,
the van overturning,
again and again.

‘This is God punishing us for breaking His Commands,’ I hear my father shout as my head hits metal.

The van comes to a halt.

Two men have run to the top of the hill.  
‘Blimey.’
‘Anyone hurt?’
Offers of help.  
‘I thought you were gonners,’ says one of the men, surprisingly cheerful.

The AA people arrive about an hour later to take us home,
and we climb into another van, subdued and beaten,
our holiday now abandoned
- but not the memories of that day.