Poem in Which the Season Turns Septemberish

someone said             leave your rancour snagged on bracken
someone said             inhale yellow wood smoke
never mindaid           iif the path to revelation’s clogged with loosestrife, with Devil’s-bit
never mindaid            If the rock formation in your face begins to ache
this is natureai           plain white-bread sky
this is natureai           silver- washed fritillary uncalled to account
and youe said             your sporting rivalry with a down-at-heel sheep
and youe said             to see who’ll climb the mountain slowest
oh hoone said           i thinks sheep
oh hoone said i           but you’re as obdurate as that tractor in that ditch and
even if                          you meet yourself halfway up already coming back
even if        i                 (cagoule-less, Medusa-haired, stinking of weed)
keep on                        in the rumination contest
keep on                        you can win

Claudine Toutoungi

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