Morning glory
For K.P.
I was queuing this morning to buy bread
at the boulangerie, when I saw a
man dragging his dog; he had done a shit,
the man grabbed it, and I watched how he
absorbed his disgust as he felt the waste’s
warmth come through the thin plastic layer shielding
his skin from the shit, which now stunk
inside the blue bag. Further down the street,
I saw the man stop by a tree. It seemed
tired, its leaves already in free fall,
leaning against a brick wall covered in
moss. Now the man looked around
anxiously, his brown eyes staring but not
seeing me nor the tree; his hands shaking
faintly in his khaki jacket too big
for his body. He dropped the blue plastic
bag full of shit on the ground, looking around
one more time. I wished he had left the shit
alone. Now it was our own blue shit
that I saw, soiling
the earth by the copper beech tree.
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