He feels cold somewhere behind his chest wall
and walks the long way home trying to stall
Autumn. At the end of the lane sheep
hit. Smell of dark-hay, ammonia. Bleats
two echoes of first.
Sheep eyes try to disappear in the ears,
top lip clefts the mouth into the nose.
They are ear-eyes; nose-mouth. The fleecy
false suggestion of muscle bears neon graffiti.
At school they learned that sheep eat trees
before birth. The patter of hooves compacts soil.
Cause of floods: woolly maggots in green deserts.
He likes their swollen maggoty ripple,
He likes sheep. They are stupid too.
He imagines life in an old sheet
camping in a green desert. He does not pretend
he would pull pretty gowns from wool
but can see a tea towel – tied Bedouin-style.
In the valley he can hear the A38 roar.