A cow bestrides the sea wall
blocking our path, dark
eyes staring us out while
slovenly chewing
the winter grass. I don’t think
she gives a damn about
me and even less
about you – I think she’s
sussed us out, that you find her
disturbing. She has
no opinion on these views either
side, the expanses of fen
drably bedecked
by sparse copse and spire,
the salt marsh
dividing old kingdoms and ways
of speech. Her only view is
of us, that her might is right and
that we shall not pass easily
copyright Francis Barker 2019
Ciscography 