Combine

Combine

Rust burnt with a sickly green tinge,

ivy and sticky weed ate the broken engine.

Benn sat behind the old wheel,

black marks on his face.

I wasn’t allowed to sit there,

a splintered plank of wood was mine,

cold nails hung from it like bats.

We sat under the butterfly canopy,

a decomposing rabbit wafted,

the peacocks and brimstones danced.

We harvested well over thirty bales today,

just enough for winter.