I see this stub, a broken thing from wind.
A vertical thing, rising to the sky, de-frocked
Sprawls on the earth, its mourning mother
Staring at the sky, above the electric wires.

Children dance on its body, in school uniform
They have learned how to dance on short stubs
In the school of lunch boxes, topied teachers
With horn-rimmed spectacles on their noses.

The trailer comes spluttering, this organic one,
Separating windy things from inorganic stuff,
The leaf from the wood and pick up living matter
To grow new living matter, in large windy spaces.
The stub remains in  wind, still embracing mother.





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