Monday, 24 August 2015

Obvious Swathe

Airless August. I feel like I’m drowning
It takes a will of iron to keep on the path.
Dry dust snaking between waist high wheat, 
a few green rogues ringing their unwelcome bells
under a blazing sun. 
At twenty something
you have the luxury of projecting
your image into an imagined future:
picture the life that you’d like,
the right people and place. 

A yellow combine travels in a cloud of dust
a streamlined machine, beautiful as a bug.
The driver in a glass cabin, bent forward 
at the controls, cap perched on his head
as he cuts an obvious swathe.

6 comments:

  1. Wonderful. Yes... at twenty something. Yes projections. Lovely poetry.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Yes to 'airless August'. It's thundering here in the swamps without a ding-dong-damned chance of rain. A beautiful, evocative poem. xo

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Marion. Nice bit of alliteration in the weather forecast.

      Delete
  3. ....our "best laid plans", huh my friend? .........wishing us some happy endings anyway......

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. And some joyous meandering on the way. Thanks, Liz.

      Delete

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