NOTHING QUITE LIKE IT FOR COOLING THE BLOOD:
Drive, cold toast, radio, carpark, old people cars,
young family cars, picnic tables, river ducks, swans, mud.
Map, dotted line, follow,, boots, wellies, coats, bottled water,
lost. Go back, keep going, go back, past the sewage works,
the barbed wire, the holes in the ground, dogs walking people
on leashes, smells, back to the start. Tired legs, start again,
bridge, track, mud, field, purple violets, white violets, broken
stuff entangled in winter briers. First blossom, daffodils, primrose,
mud, flint, the huge corrugated iron roofs of black backed barns,
black crow kites flying above tender crops, yellow arrows on posts,
the right direction, mud, river, carpark. Horns honk as we sit on
tail gates pulling off boots, thick socks, one, twoo, bang off the
mud, take time, fold laces, place them in the boot without making
eye contact, as drivers wait, revving.