The Grey Hills of Oxford

Thirty-six-inch with several contusions, thirty-six- Inch bald, slight wear on the right, thirty-six-inch With a six-inch tear, thirty-six and evenly worded, Thirty-six on its side, thirty-one with evenly spaced Bald patches, larger with fist-sized threads, upright With fist-sized treads, half-burned with the right side Flattened, one rim with only a ripple of tread, two Melded together, one mag wheel with a sliver Of dark centre, three like links in a chain, Three like leaking clay, one like a grey whale’s Snout, two flattened whitewalls on top of three Barely discernable tube-like shapes, several earth Tones near a white crumb of tire, seven stacked Like folded commas, two very grey, burned tire Corpses, something like a tractor tire, bigger Than the others and basking in the sun, upper- Most on the tire pile, near the canyon walls. Four tires like forgotten bobsleds at the bottom, Several tires jutting out from the earth, Several at the top disentangled, but not free, Sitting on the earth, half immersed. At a distance, tires lose their particularity, Tires become brushstrokes, hills Fading into sky.