Traded In (Poetry)

He has a new wife now
and after so few years
she’s rolling fully confident —
no looking back — no straggling tears
no twinge that might convey
a small regret.

Like changing cars
the new model run in
and comfortable
they cruise on by
no passing thought
or mention of
the first wife gone
to that imagined scrap yard in the sky.

The new wife set to breeze
on through her MOT —
her engine good
and serviceable bodywork —
but does he
ever wish he could have kept
his first love as she was
before the rust set in?

He gives no sign
and looks straight on ahead
attention scarcely wavering, his speed
approaching sixty
travelling south
while some can’t quite believe
that touch and smell do not sometimes
betray him —
his memory deceived —
her name still warm, familiar in his mouth.

And if he grieves
for her — misses what they shared
it doesn’t show —
all the while he’s moving on
keeping pace with current traffic’s flow
as though
blinkered, never slowing to admit
the inside wheel recalls
another road — those miles
that used to lead him home.