No Man's Land Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

Im in no man's land between
white toothed winter, and this
pale dissembling summer
where the seasons horse-blinker
the particulars, no time to feel for
newborn leaves who want to
jostle and play, be gay
no time at the train window of
life, fast harvester of all
the gap between woods
and hills, where you crash land
your 747, slowed down cottages,
farms neat as dice, the sprawled
effort of land toil in
this rural heaven, the tractor
left outside to rust,
sump without oil

speeding, speeding
opposite, a woman reading,
look!
comfortable cats in barns,
men down the pub
trading certainties, yarns
its only foreigners who doubt

over the points we rattle
sudden as death
there's a wedding and there some
overheated bedding that
made more people
to drive more cars
whatever you do
don't look up at the stars