They sit with the road\u2019s oily
\ntang in their nares,
\ntheir bodies like helmets in grass.<\/p>\n
Younger ones look like soil
\nupon snow and nest
\nin the adults\u2019 thick feathers.<\/p>\n
My sister and I at somebody\u2019s
\nwedding, when we hid
\nunder somebody\u2019s dress.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The city has been stamped with leaves
\nand is a mail bag, waiting to be posted somewhere.
\nHouses, on a hillside, stacked like letters
\nspilling over so the wind can almost snatch them.<\/p>\n
Its streets are grit filled markings on a shoe sole
\ncambering uneasily at the heel
\nand worn into themselves like grafted skin.
\nThe tarmac has a greasy sheen.<\/p>\n
Only people\u2019s backs, hunched towards shopping,
\nconfirm life happens here, wrapped in cagoules,
\npeople personable as tents zipped shut,
\ncanvas for the rain to write upon.<\/p>\n
They lean into windows lit like oilseed
\nbelieve they\u2019re holding something by its horns.
\nTheir houses ache like letters that leave something bad unsaid.
\nBut now the whole world knows their thoughts.<\/p>\n
Theirs was only the stale and temporary discretion
\nof booths at a polling station.
\nHouses on the hillside turn to banners
\nfilling with the wind, which will not take them far.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Lapwings in Fallowfield They sit with the road\u2019s oily tang in their nares, their bodies like helmets in grass. Younger ones look like soil upon snow and nest in the adults\u2019 thick feathers. My sister and I at somebody\u2019s wedding, when we hid under somebody\u2019s dress.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":226,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[346,349],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n