Workshop (Poetry)

I know the dangers of listening to other people —
the way they run my own thoughts off the road —
leave me in a lay-by, baffled by the speed
of suddenly not knowing what to think
or where I believed I’d been going.

Their cars are fast ideas of what runs true —
I idle, engine ticking, hand on wheel
and sceptical of that gleaming paint —
all showroom polish — clinical — too clean
for comfort. Nought to sixty in a blink.

I let them go — shut out the throaty roar
or conversation scoring — pros and cons —
the hints termed ‘handy’ — all that guide-book talk
of ‘How To...’ Let my mind turn down a road
deserted, where I’ll kick my own quiet dust.