for Poetic Bloomings: form Quatern

Grandfather Laos takes short steps,
not striding like a rocking horse,
but distinct full stops, separate;
as if alleys were paved with glue.

Red-tied trash bag on a carry-stick,
Grandfather Laos takes short steps,
no movement transferred to the sack,
still slim with the early morning.

Objective as an old surgeon,
he lifts lids, inspects the contents.
Grandfather Laos takes short steps;
he is precise, professional.

The trucks will scoop up what he leaves
while he sits on his porch, sorting,
red-tied bag after red-tied bag.
Grandfather Laos takes short steps.

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For Poetic Bloomings, this is a Quatern.  I’m not happy with the name “grandfather laos” (which sounds sort of patronising-cute), but “the old Laotian guy who picks through the trash” doesn’t quite make it, either.

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