#100

There is field, and we are in it.

This is it, you say

crouching low over your shoes.

We prepared to leave as

milk bottles came

chose instead the ones

the tide brings - green

buckets on ropes

        hanging low

from our shoulders. We

find the cows out

in the field. A drunken farmer

too busy making

snow angels. We milk instead

then walk the twelve 

      miles to the beach 

avoiding slot machines 

until our beds are checked. 

On the edge of the pier

    we can begin again

to see ourselves. We dip

chipped mugs deep in buckets

    for our bones. 

[tag word: ENDING - Jen Campbell @aeroplanegirl]

100 Poem Challenge: writing 100 poems in a weekend to raise money for EEC International.