The potato fields are waterlogged. Our woollen sweaters
stretching to our knees as we push the wheels. The towns
are way behind us - far-flung. The artery roads closed down.
On the way over we ignored the dead birds littering
the pavements. Saw an arm or two scratching
at artilleries of dustbins. Back in the day those
had been our shields, now germs clinging to our knuckles.
[tag word: MIASMA - Claire Marriott @buckswriter]
100 Poem Challenge: writing 100 poems in a weekend to raise money for EEC International.