Poem 166: Straining for Speech

the scare crowed man in his field
of yellowed rape and purple flax
in his ragged coat of many colours,
flapping on his light polished frame,
articulating life with a deadly immobility
in every dumb gesture, eloquently
booming his vacant truth, as he breezily
shakes his gloved fist, defiant to the last straw
shame less lea and meadow mute,
straining for speech to curse the endless
stream of humanity passing by, car bound
on automatic, the passengers entranced
by the slow motioned roar of the beast,
and its continual need to be fed by
our mindless drive to thrive on idolatry
of the beast, who when angered
by silence will roar even louder
in this countryside to subsume
the metaled captives in their wills,
slaves to the drive that keeps them
chained to the always passing by,
that keeps him chained to the land
in a feudal attempt to keep the birds
from feeding.