An Earthly Host
Last week, the final leaves, in fading gold,
were raked, then bagged and tied. The trees are bare
beside our windows, standing in the cold
or swaying in the bristling north-east air.
I shiver slightly, while I’m making tea
again, and listening to the radio.
Preparedness is all, it’s telling me;
a war is coming – ready? I don’t know…
but at that moment, there are roars outdoors.
I switch the kitchen light off. Blackout! Good.
It’s not a plane, though. These are tractor roars,
and jaunty horns, and lights! The neighbourhood
turns red and orange, yellow, blue and green,
as local festive farmers rumble past.
It’s unexpected, not a battle scene;
the radio tunes out. The tractors blast.
Felicity Teague
If you have any thoughts about this
poem, Felicity Teague
would like to hear them
