Concrete cows

On that sixth-form geography field trip,
we hadn’t got that far
before the coach stopped,
pulled over in a lay-by on the Great North Road.
I wrote an essay on new town developments.
Houses happened behind revêtements,
the last of these fields to go.

You could just about see
the concrete cows along peripheral horizons.
On Saturdays, I traded in some unwanted records
at stalls spilling out from the shopping mall.
Under rain-scaped skies, we walked back,
paid the ticket, got into the car, went home.

  Copyright Tom Phillips 2011