Parking (poem)

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Parking

I have this memory.
I am walking across a field
a squelching field
a field that would suck your wellingtons off
the wind is a wet dish cloth
slapping my face
cow pats are dotted like landmines.
I love the countryside
but I don’t love this countryside
with its barbed wire fences
its ragged ditches
its baleful cows.
In the far corner of the field
I come across the rusty shell
of an old Mercedes
abandoned by the farmer
after one last muddy trip to the market,
and I’ve been thinking lately
I should take some ideas I have
some long held, unexamined beliefs
and park them in the far corner of a field,
top of the list being
the irrational notion
that somehow
against all odds,
we would all continue
to live, forever.

It’s all about metaphor over at dverse today, check out Bjorn’s excellent post.

This poem originally appeared in Cyphers Magazine.

23 thoughts on “Parking (poem)

  1. rivrvlogr

    I can imagine the mind being a field littered with half-baked ideas, some of which are easier to swallow than the truth, so corralling them to keep them out of circulation definitely would be a good idea.

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  2. msjadeli

    This stuck out to me:
    “I love the countryside
    but I don’t love this countryside”
    Not sure exactly why. Because it won’t give you the answer you need but know can never be?

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  3. kim881

    I walked across that field, the one that would suck your wellingtons off, Jim, with cow pats dotted like landmines – in County Meath in Ireland over 38 years ago! It’s possible I left a few ideas parked there too. I feel heartache for the baleful cows in your poem, having to graze near a rusted Mercedes.

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  4. Beverly Crawford

    No doubt the Mercedes has tales to tell … and no one to listen since the cows have moooooved in. (Sorry, couldn’t resist!)

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  5. Steve Simpson

    A very pleasing darkness, Jim. I particularly like the recollection giving rise to the awareness of death, and the description of that recollection with all its symbolism. This is a wonderful interpretation of memento mori.

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