220. in Vikings footsteps
in these streets of no joy
the quiet has disembarked
and fled
osculatory cousins
reap what they sow
in the bus shelter
as the village bike
looks on disdainfully
blowing pink bubbles –
shaking hands and
chattering babies teeth
the icy winds of pleasantries blow
winning the land
from the sea
of muddy salt flats
a tractor crawls
beneath the pale winter sun.