The City is all that stands

between us and Mother Nature’s

bloodier demands. Some piled up stones

and a wall keep her at bay

as we pick over the bones

of an uneasy peace within.

Here, civilisations come and

go, some good enough to let us rise

above fight or flight and live

forgetful of the alternative.

Instead, we visit space, cure disease

and compose symphonies.

Yet all the while the hag waits

by the gates, selling fruit and veg

and as sure of claiming us

as she has been always – since our

forebears first put her beyond their pale,

haunted by the death wail of

inhuman life. We were grateful

for the city then, glad to get back

and bar the door. Now we put

animal rights above Aristotle,

backpack off to views that please

and can’t see the blood for the trees.