Overcome

And suddenly, a sleek white forest of turbines,
indifferent to the sky,
white on grey.

I stand gawping in a blustery lay-by,
mesmerised by tapered steel limbs
smoothly whipping the ragged air.

They are powerful in their obedience,
sensual in their constant movement,
strangely erotic.

I'm in the middle of unsettling angles,
examining identical bodies,
an artist in a clones' still life class.

But these are no ordinary models.
Gargantuan and erect,
an industrial third sex,
disconcertingly Other.

And I touch my chest,
I run my hand over the fine stubble on my head;
I look up and laugh
and feel accepted.