My Field

 

I placed my throne in the centre of it,

a deck chair, striped blue and white,

sagged into its curve relaxed.

 

The green field was mine now,

it belonged to me.

It was my green rectangle

and I sat at the centre of it,

beneath a blue, cloudless sky.

 

Flickering faces

stared through the railings newly installed,

gleaming like a row of polished knives.

I looked away with a smile

until a five-faced mob turned up

and began to shout

something about footpaths and public.

I shouted back ‘footpath kaput’, ‘field mine now’, ‘be off with you’

and laughed a hearty laugh.

They reached a crescendo,

eventually,

shook the fence

then disappeared.

 

I surveyed my property with a careful eye

and noticed growing things amongst the grass,

red things, yellow things, things with prickly tops.

I saw them growing in my soil,

using my soil,

making my soil their home.

I went to the nearest group

and stamped and stomped.

No No No.

This cannot be, I boomed.

This is mine.

This belongs to me.

You have no rights here.

I found a stick on the ground,

my stick on my ground,

and it became a vanquishing sword.

I stormed forward

swiping the red things, the yellow things and the things with the prickly tops.

In no time at all,

they had gone the way of the weak

since the beginning of time

since the primordial soup

since the dawn of civilisation.

 

I returned to my deck chair,

striped blue and white,

with a heavy breath and a heavy ponder

on the state of the grass,

my grass.

It was clumpy, sharp in places and thin in others.

It was not the kind of grass I wanted

in my field

and I decided it too must make the journey

all that which is no longer needed must make.

I would get a man in to spray the lot.

 

With feet outstretched,

a butterfly stopped on my shoe,

white and like delicate.

I examined it for a moment

then kicked it away.

I realised that on my soil,

on it,

within it,

under it

insects lurked

crawled

jumped

fucked

living a life at my expense.

They hadn’t asked for permission,

they hadn’t got an agreement,

rent or otherwise,

they hadn’t shown my ownership any due regard.

For their crimes beyond number

I resolved to bring in a man

who would sear and bleach this portion of the world,

my portion,

eradicating the squatters and stealers

and, for a small extra charge,

rake them out of the memory of this place, for ever.

 

This field would learn who’s boss,

who’s in control,

who it belonged to.

It belonged to me,

no one else,

and certainly not to itself, never to itself.

It was mine

and being mine

left no part over for anything else.

 

I sat back

satisfied with my plan

and raised my face to the sky.

Clouds, grey clouds,

were filling up the blue,

hanging over my field

blocking out my view.

A roof, I thought.

My field needs a roof

and I knew just the man

to help me realise my plan.