Middle Of Nowhere

Even here, in the backend of beyond,
modernity pushes in its ugly snout,
disturbs the drowsy peace.

The hum of electricity cools caged pigs,
pale cows, battery hens, chicks;
shedfuls of misery.

The highway hisses cars, trucks, hgvs
over tarmac, rippling the countryside
like a seam of coal in rock.

I want to go off grid, head to the hills,
follow the sheep until I'm lost
in the silence of snowfall.

Slip back through time a while before
man's industry birthed white noise;
constant, clamorous companion.

There, I might hear a blackbird
singing to the dawn. In the grasses,
by the lake, a frog wishing to mate

or an owl or a fox hunting. I might hear
the stillness of an expectation, feel
a breath released.