Coffee Spattering the Forest

Three million hectares
of newspaper pages
to be eaten by flames
This morning’s edition
four fingers long
two straight and even columns
unloaded from the back of a pick-up
Dawn at the printers
piled on the asphalt
put in order by the sellers
before the sun is risen
thrown into front yards
picked up by the servants
placed on the dining table
looked at in passing
while straightening one’s tie
with the wife, tidying her hair
and the children running around
a morning full of things to do
Marmelade on finger tips
and bread clutched in one hand
Crossing one’s arms
coffee spills on the reading matter
spattering three million hectares of newspaper
two immensely long columns
The fire dies, the forest smoulders
The damp newspaper is folded four times
placed in the woven hard-plastic basket
and thrown away
that very morning
at precisely thirty past seven.

1988