Two English Poets On A Drive Into Town

Sometimes they walk
but mostly they drive
into town.
Deciding the way to go,
they make it different each time.
The small car is put into gear
and they drive off.

As they drive, they talk.
Their conversation is about
a previous conversation.
It isn't brilliant, it isn't big.
Their talk is of little things
which, by their manner,
are made brilliant,
are made big.

During these conversations,
one of them will say
that the car needs fuel.
They will stop.
The boot is opened.
In it is a hatbox.
Inside the box is a brain.
It's their brain.
Usually they decide
that the car
doesn't need fuel,
so they continue.

Soon,
redundant factories
come into view
then complexities
of mini-roundabouts and traffic-lights.
With respect to the highway code,
they traverse these obstacles
to the multi-storey car-park.
There they have to pay,

they argue(it's money after all)
but they pass
and, of course,
there's only room at the top.
It's here, open spaces
widen out across the city.
They stay in the car
and discuss the return journey.