Ploughing

'Ploughing' by Joan Condon

The farmer tells us Old Punch
is due for retirement now, and that
he’ll spend the rest of his happy days
grazing contentedly in peaceful pastures.

For the last time, this huge chestnut horse
wears trace-bar and swingle-tree
cheek-piece and fore-wale,
nose-band and loin-strap.

Brightly-polished brasses,
shaped like the moon and stars
tinkle as Punch moves,
protecting him from the evil eye.

Heavy hooves plod through the mud,
the plough rattles behind;
deep straight furrows appear
in the rich, damp brown earth.

The farmer calls ‘Hey, Punch, hup!’
It’s nearly time to go homeward,
where the knacker’s van visits
parked outside the farmyard.

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