We are experiencing a subliminal coup
Here in the countryside.
It’s been building these last few months, weeks even
And now the tipping point has come
And already, almost in an overnight, it’s practically complete.
We are dispossessed and invaded in one breath
Field after field after field
Dominated by great coiled foot soldiers
Who have fallen where they must
In dumb obedience to masterful machines.
Stubble, short seemingly dead
Left in the after light
While the rumble and the throbbing
Of the beasts who have culled are still culling
Tempers the air with the flight of dust clouds.
The golden fields that have dallied
While the wind has danced amidst them,
Are no more, are reduced to emptiness,
A barren swathe across the countryside
Guarded bleakly by those great coiled foot soldiers
Who have fallen where they must
In dumb obedience to masterful machines.
A harvest mouse clambers up the only wheat stalk, left standing.
Trudie Shannon
