It is an easy guess its Sunday - there’s that busy
fest of muttering mowers, and, distantly, a weed-
whacker digesting those lengths of verges intent
on invading sanity - but best is we’re miles away
from diversions of courteousness, or refinement;
our urbanity is way out in th’ Country. There're 5
residences here within a kilometre’s radius & yet
we don’t see any neighbour as being next-door
Th’ consensus appears t’ be do what y’ have to,
but don’t waste energy on extra noises to prove
you’re into th’ groove - so it all dies away before
midday; and then the air is revitalised with birds’
songs mixed with contented mooing of satisfied
cattle feeding on revitalised backwoods grazing
© 3 June 2018, I. D. Carswell
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