On the drive home

I think if you had left

The hill’s head alone

And let the tree-hairs crowning it

Come and go in natural course

It would have been better

Than the buzzed line you’ve made

For the electric wires

That makes the hill look like

A new soldier,

Hands folded in his lap

Awaiting the remaining shearing

As little pieces of himself

Lie clumped on the ground.