Jen Hadfield
O send me another last life like this –
I want the same lochans as I had before –
the wind driving spittlestrings
to skimpy shores or dark red stone;
same hot sweet slaw
of muck and shit and trampled straw;
the chimney bubbling transparent heat;
a whirlpool of Muscovy ducks;
paet-reek;
a scrambling clutch of piglet-pups;
the wet socks
slamdunked along the washing line;
the shucked wet shirts in gospel
grey and sparkling sun;
whet white bell
of an XXL tee-shirt, swung
a sheepdog shouting
at my rolling tyres –
polecats, rabbits, caried byres
O send me another last life like this –
This is bliss
this