Two young men in the back of a small car

accepting balloons of nitrous oxide

the drum and bass booming

they turn it down a touch

as I approach

but are not laughing

what sort of animals are they?

I pull in next to them

the only other vehicle

on this bumpy patch of elevated ground

the gateway to the hills

to a sanctuary that has no walls 

but a view

a saner place of isolation 

in a curfew

what sort of animal am I?

considering whether a drone 

winging and glinting in sunlight

could be making a note

of my car’s registration number

for the incipient police state

the sheriffs of our private moments

getting away from it all

from nothing at all

what sort of animals are we?