The road trip.

The lonely driver chases the ribbon of tarmac - never ending - like a treadmill in a barren desert,
The air conditioned hamster wheel treadmill,
for what?
Where's the family?
the son you are so proud of graduating in Manilla?
"Good morning, sir"
"No problem, sir"
Your view is grey and brown, the road in and out of Riyadh
but when do you go home?
You wait patiently in the heat of the mall car park,
papers ready for the checkpoint; eyes front!

You left the beautiful Philipinnes for the far side of the moon,

Qassim 300m.
The red sand dunes, the tyres discarded; the fallout from the train of wagons,
no living soul,
the relentless pursuit of the end of the road;



the detritus of a moments lack of concentration,
your passengers snoring gently or tapping to the beat in their ears.

Twenty years you proudly say you've been driving in Saudi!
You've seen new builds come and go,
the flat desert, like a huge landing strip for some Mothership from another place.
"We called, but they weren't home!"

And yet who would come if you failed?!
They would surely come out of rocks and the gulleys; ready to give you aid.



I search for the silence in the sands.