THE RUBBLER...

 The Rubbler…

Dryness. You could feel it in your throat.

Despite the canopy of veteran trees

And their usual cool dampness,

There was heat. There was perspiration.

There was dust in the rubble.

And the badgers wore a fur coat…

Duress. You could feel it in streaming eyes.

Sultry. A copse sedate and at ease,

Riddled with a dank clamminess.

There was heat. There was toleration.

There was a brock in the rubble.

And it feasted, with dry dirt in its throat…

Pete Ray

10th July 2022

Never known it so close at the copse…

I stayed but a short while, as rubble and indeed waste from years ago, now having surfaced, offered the ground a damaged appearance, reminding me a little of World War II and blitzed cities… 

Then though, it was residents who sifted through the rubble…