augury doggerel

Saturday, October 26, 2002


On the sidewalk before stoplights start turning red, three people in the public works wearing orange reflective vests push three prams stripped to the metal. Their fluffy beds, no longer of any use, have been discarded and replaced by brooms and shovels and dustbins. There is no budget for carts built to the job, and there are always babies growing up.

Nine hours later each day, after we all have lunched at work, a local farmer rides his bicycle away from our kitchen. He pulls a small trailer carrying a metal milk can topped with our orts. He fattens a pig, I think, on our drippings and bones.


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