Fields Of Concrete

Fields of concrete stretch before me,
The fast hum of herded traffic
making their own animal noises,
Sounding both rough and grisly.
Farms of humans breeding
Both pedigree and mongrels share a pen.
but rarely do each of them meet,
Even at the abattoir.
When they receive their packaging
They'll never meet there.
One can afford to buy the best.
The others get theirs from discarded sales.
Brick forests stand tall hanging above me.
Watching the foxes argue over the rules,
None of them truly know
the mongrels they rule over.
They scream and pull up the rubbish
And use it to feed their plans.
Birds, they moan not tweet here.
Leaving streaks and streams along their skies.
They don't feed on the dead they find.
Shun it away, like the pedergees, leaving it to the mongrels.
This is the countryside.
The urban countryside.

©Odd