Going West by Simon Armitage

So from A to B
we point and counterpoint,
tread a thin line,
split hairs so finely

That we lose the thread.
With every manoeuvre you wonder
how i passed the test.
At every junction

I could fill in your face.
And with the temperature gauge
getting into the red, and at the invitation
Of the Last Chance Service Station

we pull up let steam off
and give it a rest.
I’m so hungry
I could eat a buttered monkey. You,

you could manage a racehorse
and go back for the jockey.