Holiday again.
School’s out.
We’re in the car
and the music is playing;
Dr Hook laments and
Dolly Parton sews.
Are we there yet?
Mum nods off.
We eat sugar.
Dad adjusts his hat.
The motorway is our horse
but we have no spurs.
Instead, we sit
and wait.
Still, country plays
telling us of past disasters
and loves
with a twang.
This poem is inspired by the daily prompt.
Kate Murray 
16 thoughts on “Hats, spurs and belts”