L’herbe Sauvage

Jay drove me to the farm

where the family were from.

It wasn’t far, the weather wasn’t too grey.

I asked him for papaya.

He broke the old tree

reaching some for me.

Crossed rows of sugar cane,

(the harvest had finished

so there wasn’t much to see)

to a well, overgrown

with laliane. Here his father

had drawn water. We walked to the stream

saw plastic bags of schoolbooks

had been dumped here.

We swam in the summer, it was cleaner then.

When mother was with us

the crops weren’t like this.

Her son stoops to pull one savage from the soil

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