Getting out of town

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, originally uploaded by olivander.

I am not a city boy.
I do not need proximity to the chattering swarms,
the sea of foul-tempered elbows
late to their pigeon holes.
I do not need concrete building blocks to prop myself against,
that serve no purpose
other than
to remind me of my place.
I do not long for the lurching buses
and black-stacked lorries
coughing pale death
down the shattered roads.
I do not desire 57 channels and nothing on.
I need the tree-spired horizon
buttoning wild skies of beetling snake-tongued clouds
to undulating golden oceans.
I desire ear-splitting silence
and a kitchen-cut sandwich
with thumbprints mashed into
its spongy surface
on a forgotten wayside
on a forgotten lane to nowhere
in the shadow of a prairie shipwreck’s
hay-dripping spanners.
From here
the land receives
Day’s slow blink
without trepidation.