Raspberries in the ditch

Walking the twitchy road
He felt an itch
The old hairy coat scratched the bitch
She looked at him true
The raspberry ditch
The old stick tapping tar
The rickety cart no longer a car
Horse unhitched
Dusted by the daze
Of the raspberry ditch

Papered tobacco lit the decision switched
Road tarred paved passed stonewall graveyard
Past the church chestnuts
The tinkers parked on the long mile acre
Down the hill around another bend
Straight on fastened to the potholes
Chasing flat sheepdogs barking trees tarred
Where cow shite followed hard little birds
On the road of little stones for indigestion
Flashing to the old mile stone suggestion
Hay cart trodden to the city
The horse, the driver asleep well past fifthy
Only moving to smell the soil itch
A field a gate wellies forks pitched
Stretched already falling
The bitch yelped!
At the stabbed standing itchy stick
Quickly placed by the hairy old coat
Already fallen
Into the ditch

31 May 2010