Inside I am listening to Udo Lindenberg
wearing a feather boa in the seventies
drinking kirsch snakebite. There are several
lorries ahead and they all contain animals
or quarried stone; an accident
could reinstate acres of field and dyke.
Outside there’s a pink light pressing through twilight
like a bruise, the snappy teeth of pine
all snarled by winds; but I beast the weather,
get the mills generating electricity.
They set to it: all the commuters pay my tithe in bread and sugar
until the salt-licked windows bow down and reveal
that bit of moor again. And it’s looking the other way.
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Bridget Khursheed is a poet and geek based in the Scottish Borders; a Scottish Book Trust New Writers Award winner for poetry, her work appears in publications including The Rialto, The London Magazine, New Writing Scotland, Ambit, The Cormorant, Abridged and Gutter; she is completing an MSc in cybersecurity. @khursheb