The Field
By Beverly Greene
NOTE: This poem is protected by international copyright laws and may NOT be reproduced in any form without Beverly Greene's expressed and written consent.
As I sat in a restaurant the other day
and looked out the dirty window pane,
I saw a busy street full of people
rushing to get here and there on time.
Just beyond it was my life on display.
A desolate, gray field guarded by a sign
boosting the warning "Keep Out,"
sat behind the busy road, just watching.
High above was a beautiful blue sky
with scattered pieces of fluffy cotton.
The sky was so perfect that you almost forgot
the plainness and often ugliness of the field.
The grass was an ugly brown and dingy green
and it was gently caressed by the cold wind.
Some stalks of grass were tall and strong
and some where short and easily manipulated.
Electricity polls intrude with their stiff authority
and the dark, almost hidden line that connects them.
On one of the polls was a rusty, yellow light
that gave the whole place a sick glow.
Dead trees have lined up towards the back
and seem to progress right up to where
a new line of small, green trees is seen.
A rusty, life-old fence protects this place
with the help of a steel, hard-to-open lock.
Other ugly decorations are a sign
declaring the mile and a huge billboard
advertising some store down town.
As I looked at this field through the glass,
I saw my own reflection glaring back.
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� 2001 Beverly Greene owns all rights to this original poem.
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