Mud

by Paul Muldoon

Now autumn was bleeding face–down into winter
in Creevelough and Minterburn,
the big–boned cattle we’d turned out to wander
the high meadows must finish in the barn

lest they sink to their hocks in mud,
now autumn was bleeding face–down into winter.
Back in the 1950s we’d imagined the Scud
and a Russian rip–off of the Sidewinder

would perpetuate our sense of wonder
by consigning warfare firmly to the empyrean.
Now autumn was bleeding face–down into winter
our commanders were no less prone

to optimism than Sisera the Canaanite
at Mount Tabor, who watched his artillery go under
yet hoped to somehow stave off his plight,
now autumn was bleeding face–down into winter.