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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