By James Papworth
Each morning sparrows come shrugging off the brownness of the only life they know. Cuddled in cracks they beak for lice. Streaked brick tells the story of their yesterdays. Chunks of dung litter rat-goings; they stare hard in search of hunger. Listen: they hum as they shell red wheat. Outside the feed mill on El Dorado bums belch and spit hooch phlegm. They hold their city in tied-up bags. Up and down the rail they trudge for nothing. Modesto. Madera. Fresno . Neighbors come and go. Faces roll by shades of soot, 'gadung gadung gadung' of rail rattles them to sleep. In dreams I see on the hard horizon rats with no eyes moving across the land. Sparrows circle and soar with red-caped heads. Bums have taken jobs. James Papworth
