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A Poem by Vance Hatton

In 300 yards, turn right.

Bear left onto High Street, then turn right.


At the roundabout, take the second exit.

Then, in 300 yards, turn right.


Merge onto the M3. The car ahead is too

slow, check mirrors, turn right


and overtake, go, go, go! Put your foot

down, in ten yards turn right-


Turn around where possible.

Which part of “turn right”


did you not understand?

Now, when I tell you “turn right”


you will obey me, I am your

master, get ready, turn right.


Okay, fine, I’ll reroute you this once,

but it’ll add on twenty-five minutes. Turn right.


To drive is to be like a child

learning to spell: look, say, turn, write,


               or a dancer gliding through liminal space,

               another couple approaches, be graceful, turn right,


                         and spin through the eye of the needle, thread

                         through car and cart, through space and time, turn left;


                                   there’s an art to driving, it’s a journey...

tell that to this robot turned cartwright


screaming “You! You fool, listen to me!

Turn left is turn wrong, turn right and turn right!”

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