Passing Through (Poetry)

Passing through the town, I imagine one woman left awake:
she lies beyond a closely-curtained upper window,
her snoring husband beside her, staring into the darkness
and listening to the clock, the wind, the rain.

She hears our car engine approach, the swish of wheels
on streaming tarmac and wonders at our journey,
who we are and why we're travelling so late.
It takes her mind off things as she conjures us,
thinking we might be on the run - romantics
making our escape by night.

Lights change, we halt at a deserted junction, wait
obediently for green. We must be lovers, she decides,
leaving for a new life. Probably matching luggage in the boot,
not drugs or money. Nothing illegal to declare except passion.

We move off, pick up speed and I sense her wavelength fading
as she drifts, sleep tempting her with stolen dreams of flying.