Are we there yet?

Creeping along in the toxic reek

of burbling exhausts,

windows down to cool the

sun-seared steering wheel,

and move the breathless air.

 

Are we there yet?

Inane songs to deflect boredom.

Are they all going to the seaside too?

Can we go on the roundabouts?

I spy with my little eye

something beginning with…

 

Are we there yet?

Can we have an ice cream?

Will the tide be in?

Are there rock pools

with crabs, and fish,

and limpets and things?

 

Are we there yet?

Following some inborn compass

as if genetically guided,

town dwellers hasten to the sea,

lemming-like, en masse,

to spill upon the shore.

 

Are we there yet?

The chorus of children

echoing in oppressive air,

impatient to be let loose

in the shimmering sun

of summer’s dawning.

Are we there yet?

       Are we there yet?

              Are we there yet?