Hiding the shit ones here and there ...
VILLIERS-LE-ROUX
In Villiers-le-Roux the sunflowers soar
above sporadic cars into the blue
and breakless July sky. We watch the Tour
on TV when the dry heat presses too
intently on my workshy back; you see,
I love the land, the light, the hum of peace
But not enough to let myself be free
Of sport, and thrill, and facts – there’s my release.
First light, on borrowed bikes, we free our wheels
To Villefagnan for croissants and baguettes.
I may almost have lost the way it feels
To freewheel - you don’t let me quite forget.
The Tour’s on – it’s the mountains. Happy hours
to come! you laugh, but now, look up! - sunflowers.
BRENTFORD
The bare ground underneath the motorway
unveils a path through nettles and dock leaves.
Our guileless skittering vanguard makes her hay
Headlong and lead-free, stops and starts and weaves
The way to waterside. A narrowboat
Progresses through the levelled chain of locks,
An engineering miracle afloat,
Triumphant stately jack in lidless box.
The tramp dog stops her tracks, looks shocked, so free,
so sure, no more. We need to cross the gate -
she slips and slips again, she whimpers; we
watch, wish to save her shame. But wait, we wait
‘til slowly she restores her mongrel pride –
she steps, she steadies, makes the other side.
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