City Nurtured

My city-nurtured sense could not account    
For being barefoot, sans clothes, on the road;      
The wind had risen and it seemed to goad      
The orange trees and fresh fruit paramount      
To cultivated counties; who'd discount      
Those nightmares now? I wake, my thoughts are slowed,      
To focus back to streams crossed;  footprints showed        
My path to pursuers, once loathe to mount      
Me; tempted to degrade, they simply took      
All freedom, then my dignity and clothes,      
As they rejoiced - misogynist offence -      
Rough, wretched, rural rapine rather shook      
Me to the core, amongst those citrus groves:      
Fucked as a fugitive; who showed contempt?