Country Life

Past puddles of yellow
wheat fields, sheep chew
cud in their thousands
as if they had teeth, or
could offend anyone
with a cruel thought

I longed to be on a lilo, thin
as a barely purpled
vein, sunning the best
years of my life

So when I saw those twins
surging through the blue
evening, hugging reams of paper

I knew they were writing everything
down and would follow me
to the furthest reaches
of a New Zealand coffee shop,
back in the soapy offal
of the dishwasher, where
not even the staff go