spiralling easwards
squalling gulls
© Rachel Green 2019
across the farmland
where the M42 would go
(compulsory purchase)
A bonfire
higher than the old barn
wider than the tumble-down cowshed
where we made a den
until the policeman saw us off,
sheep, lambs, two cows
reduced to ash and bone
flesh on the edges of the fire
no value in marketing them
cheaper to kill and burn
than transport to market.
The smell of a Sunday roast
combined with the acrid tang
when my jumper fell in the fire.
The dog pulls out a meaty skull
ecstatic.
© Rachel Green 2019
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