Now, my star crossed lover, you can’t have failed to observe,
That the fact that I can’t drive has become a real problem;
Since I live in Plymouth and you’ve moved to Rotherham.

Romeo and Juliet never faced such brutal geography;
For despite all the bloody duels and the odd bitten thumb,
Their scene was laid entirely beneath a fine Verona sun,

With no rail replacement bus services to temper their affection,
As they sit for half an hour stationary, somewhere near Cheltenham,
For never was there a story of more woe than my five test failures.

Today is the morning of my sixth; and I promise to do my best,
To drive safely. To indicate in time. To keep focused. To relax.
To exercise due care and attention, when responding to road markings,

I’ll be the envy of Devon’s motorists; famed for his bay parking;
I’m twenty five minutes in and my observations are exemplary.
I’m reversing around a corner, and into your arms…

But my thoughts start accelerating along the M5 and M42,
I’m mirroring, signalling and manoeuvring,
Picking my way through parked cars towards fair Rotherham.

But then, outside the big Tesco on the new estate,
I am driven back into the cold clutches of reality,
When the examiner hits the brake.

The car stops oblivious before a red light.
Parked, I watch as he pencils my fears onto his green sheet.
Another crashing failure.