Oil's Well

A slick, alien
as peacock feathers
spills over the path
welling from a rabbit burrow
in the bluebell wood.

Those who holed up there
now huddle
wet fur wind-parted
in the oozing field.

The once sheltering hill
is now a carefully contoured grave mound
over the land fill
and rain can't seep
through the layers of plastic.
Earth is saturated
and buried chemicals
rise
undead
to haunt this landscape
recreated from surveyors' notes.