Fractious At The Double Roundabout

The lane is a problem. It looks lovely, it wrecks cars and shoes. We need to be a bit richer to live here, we could get a machine to level out the pot holes. We bought a pick axe but it's a long slow job... However, watching people get fouled by the double roundabout usually restores any lost sense of humour.  

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Another petit-repetition, as I collect

My sparsely previously packed bag, my coat

My list, kiss Mr on the back of his distracted

Head, push my feet into rubber boots

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Find the mist trimmed to a

Decorative edge, an embellishment

Rather than landscape disguise. Pheasants

Parade their colours to disinterested sheep

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Several shapes of leaf bridge

Overhead, I look up, an oak branch

Is cracked, action will be necessary

Before accident or obstruction occurs

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Drag my boot-soles up the lane terrain

Bumped and pot holed and unpopular

Despite the picturesque nature, but this

Is the view that distracts, that balances

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Random finds the most

Rewarding; a city of stacked

Mushroom towers

Syfy in my hedge

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Two cigarette butts, the mass

Produced kind; not stamped on, not stubbed

Dropped adjacent to the empty bottle. Eyes in my

Reflection frown, contemplative

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I have seen then here before

Factory workers, watching the sky

After twelve hours of putting identical

Pies into identical boxes

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Barely a rustle from the papery wasp-nest

Two thirds up, in the granite dry-stone

One occupant is returning

Unsure of the weather

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Here is the top of the lane, step

Out from the leaf roof, onto

Neat line edged smooth levelled

Tarmac; surface calm

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Here comes traffic getting

Somewhere, stalled

Flummoxed, fractious

At the double roundabout