Foxes’ Holes
The face of Saddam Hussein flaps in a hedge.
He was front page news a few days back and triggers
a memory of the edge of Iraq lined with mines
and horizons of Kurds clamouring to leave.
Now, his head is pinned by hawthorn.
He half-breathes through gulps of wind.
He will loosen eventually and sog
alongside fag packets and Tesco bags.
Mayflowers will blossom.
Daisies will spring up like freckles.
and close-up in the rocks
you will see glints of quartz and spots of garnet.