Rotation

Mike Bell/ August 15, 2016/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

Drive east out of Ringmer,
then turn left, before Earwig Corner,
accelerate on hedgerows’ chase
– parallel to Will Craig’s place;

there, on the driver’s side,
fields turn to skipped Caburn,
and your breath, to then be taken,
by the county’s only rotations

of three-armed grace,
under over-blown blades:
You now accelerate, drop-thrilled,
past the singing windmill’s hill,

and over, and down,
beyond the tilted crown,
across the bucked landscape,
on lanes, bough-scraped:

The hard-driven route,
gear-stick, de-clutched,
but then slowed by the stopped
harvester,
that wide-load between weather.