Glastonbury Healing Fields

Mud is caked to my soul.
I'm searching for the Healing Field.

I plod
And plough
A path
For miles
In wellies
With blisters
In rain
All day
Picking up
Every
Last
Strewn
Scrap
Of
Sodden,
Stinking
Litter.

I
Wash
Wet
Waste
Away from
My brow
With
Withered
White
Wrists.

Then,
I spy
The Green Healing Field.

Your trash has neat order.

White bag for papers
Green sack for cans
Black liner for bins

I read the eco-biodegradable sign
Above this thoughtful organisation.

“Sorry, but due to rain we’re closed for therapy today.”

I collect your
carefully
categorised
castoffs
And quit.

Mud is still caked to my soul.