Two concrete posts set in the ground like a goal.
Dry stalks spreading along the porous surface.
Wire chain-link fencing. The throaty bass
of a young man's car. Hear it but can't see it.
Rhythm of a train. The bank rises
to what feels like an immense, intimidating height.
Scrimmage of ivy and a sawn down tree.
Its concentric circles – the ones you were taught
to count to determine the tree's age
stare back like a wooden eye.
A plastic tub the colour of clay
supposed, I suppose, to look like earthenware.
Puzzle as to how it got there.
A blackbird pulls at black leaves,
probes them with its orange beak.
Cooing of pigeons. Hills behind me.
Eerie mounds bobbling along the horizon.