Junk and emptiness

 A farmer near me harvests junk.
His yard is stacked high with scrap:
old tyres, rusting engines and iron.
There’s even an ancient petrol pump.
His tractor can just squeeze between the piles.
 
Most people think it’s an extraordinary mess
but he seems to find it comfortable enough.
He’s lived like that for years.
 
Still, who amongst us
is not in need of purification?
 
Me, I harvest junk too.
I scour TV and newspapers for second-hand opinions
which I then stash away in my head.
They’re piled high in there, slowly deteriorating.
 
There’s not much room to move around
but I’m comfortable with that:
I’ve lived like that for years.
 
I know stuff leaks out from time to time
and pollutes my friends and family,
but what’s a man to do?
 
The alternative seems to be emptiness,
and in reality that doesn’t bear thinking about.

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