WICKLEWOOD

by

Alun Buffry

(2006 in memory of 1976)

They're watching us from cornfield there!

I heard the signs, saw smoke within the air.

Illusions? All in Buddha's many minds?

They watch, they know we're not their kind.

 

See there! The Wicklewood, road beyond,

Just secreted besides the Ducking pond!

A car, a scar, a landscape flaw?

Soon there's knocking on the door.

 

They came, they grinned, they even knew our names,

They played their endless searching games,

Seeking for a lump of hash.

Who'd have thought the law so crass?