Drive

Medley of horses by the motorway
untethered; the field surplus to transport
or agriculture. At this speed the horses look
like Travellers’ horses beside a leftover wood
where smoke rising sketches a caravan.
As we flash by our road draws its own wake,
a joyful anarchy of second growth —
beechy and larchy shoots, scrub, militant bindweed
whose canker lilies, malign and beautiful,
have everything to play and nothing to pay for.
Two