Elemental/Mental

There is a booming voice
It sounds just like my master:
"Go walking in the country
Be at one with nature"

A tree beckons me on
With an outstretched palm
Before turning around
And slapping me in the face

I yomp and I yammer, nearly
Lose my boots in the quagmire
Cows look confused on the golf course
Birds fly overhead on wires

Exposed, up on the moor
The wind blows right through a man
I am a flute of bone
I am powder, I am as dust
Waiting for reconstitution
But I scatter with a single gust

Am I elemental
Or simply mental?
Supping soup from sacrificial skulls
Bedding down in the nettles
They could cart me off to the nut-house
To live among the squirrels

Smack the Black Sheep Boy
Stop him from talking
Punt the litter of the runt
He's got to keep walking
Until he falls off the edge of the Earth

B.R. 13/10/2012

 

X marks the spot. Between Hawksworth Lane and Birks Wood, a 5-iron away from The Bradford Golf Club. Photograph by B.R.