Combine

Rust burnt with a sickly green tinge,
ivy and sticky weed ate the broken engine.
Benn sat behind the old wheel,
black marks on his face.
I wasn’t allowed to sit there,
a splintered plank of wood was mine,
cold nails hung from it like bats.
We sat under the butterfly canopy,
a decomposing rabbit wafted,
the peacocks and brimstones danced.
We harvested well over thirty bales today,
just enough for winter.