recoil to know

from all the motorway’s blinking lights

i recoil. 

from all the lorry drivers 

and all the van men on their way to fast work 

i recoil.

from the factory’s smoking stacks, 

and the trains and planes and noise and all
i recoil.
for

i prefer 
to sit with a book of poems,

alone in the shadow of a light’s silence, 

as the sun drags down the world and all, 

i sit chewing on the lemon words,

or alight upon the honey meadows,
and i know 
that this is how life should be.