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