1978 School Magazine

CARS

A line of silver segments push along, On a ribbon of white lined black. lnside the segments, pallid faces stare, Rigid bodies sit, holding a wheel. Set in their minds; I've got to get home. So they push on, nothing else, Push on, push on. Where do they come from? What do they want? They are all one, a sliver slug. It worms and crawls, along the road. On a never-ending trail. Each segment is different.

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And yet it is not, They are all one, And they are called CARS. . . Sally Cooper, 38.