Dressed Lamb

Another Friday afternoon and
I slipped into that breach
Between hedgerows, the tyres
Nestled into familiar furrows
Delicately I pushed the vehicle’s nose
Against the rusted metal -
The welcome nuzzle of a short abrasive kiss

Winding the window down
The country air seeped into the car
And sat in my mouth
Like mint under the tongue
But today, exhaust fumes
Would smell as sweet

I tuned the radio
Randomly searching for something
Gentle, melodious
To deaden the boom
Of an pulsing fist
Against the grain of old mahogany
Thumping repetitively
Bleeding my imagination

No music; just another list of
Lost souls occupying another field

Like this but far less green

Delivered in methodical tones
Like a makeshift menu
Of a concerned chef

An unexpected crunch
Interrupted the roll call
And a woolly face appeared
Framed in the trammel lines
Of that grinning gate
Unconcerned, despite her isolation
From the flock, regimented

In another corner of the field

I envied her innate ignorance
And told her so
But she turned away, distracted
By a pathetic bleat that filtered through
The miasma of the heavy summer evening
Fretting, mother  pattered into view
Snuggling close
A gash of red dye splashed against her side
Like a crushed rose in a tar pool.

No more names now

Behind them, on a forest of nails
The haggard sun, like Obesity overdressed,
Hung, interminably punctured
And a silver blade
Shimmered across the scarlet sunset
Dissecting the horizon

Another lamb dinner