The Poetry Society

No country bumpkin myself, I find it

hard to distinguish the bird who sounds

like a Dalek, from the owl, blue tit

or pheasant. Or the dog in the grounds

below from the sewage-pipe-bark.

I find the feet of the average tree

making their own shoe-size footpath mark

is something that stops or slows me.

Rural dwellers may laugh; but I

may even go so far as to say

despite the water-tumble and spotless sky

and clean air, I like the frantic disarray

and the city hubbub, haste and CO2,

no country bumpkin myself it's true.