At Ferrybridge she says she won’t call again
And despite the pleas on the exit sign I know I won’t either
Her particular speech is set amongst ice cream
And drowns under soft drinks and reasonable pricing
Sinking in milkshakes, as thick as a trucker’s lungie
As she speaks my guts jack-knife
I’m possibly hungry

Thank god for Ferrybridge, pared down to parity
Dealing in absolutes, dual as the carriageway
The racks of wrapped snacks are an apt blank canvas
A heritage trail strung across a damp atlas
Lightning strikes, the GATSO flashes twice
She hisses with feedback
I sleep through the speed trap

Ferrybridge is perfect
A drizzly goodbye seven years in post-production
She hangs-up and my ears fill quickly with chitchat
As the till-jockey rings through a re-mixed Kit-Kat
And I’m thinking fog lights, I’m thinking night
This heart murmurs
And I’m thinking about burgers

Ferrybridge is somewhere you just have to go through
A few quick questions you can say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to
A notch on a staging post, a pristine convenience
The infinite grey top of seamless expedience
As the sodium pulses in an overhead disco
Her services fade with the smoothness of slip roads