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page 22 

Bob Lucky, Ethopia


Thinking of the Shepherd

A crew is reducing a pile of logs to tinder for the bakery. Axes bite into wood. The rhythmic zip of a two-handled saw measures the afternoon. Young boys pile up strips of bark. A shepherd, about my age, watches the log cutters. He's wearing a fake-leather jacket and a soiled tennis visor. In his left hand he holds an empty bottle of Coca Cola and in his right a braided cotton bullwhip with which he whacks any sheep that drifts toward the logs. When it starts to drizzle, he cracks his whip and follows the sheep down the road.

chilly evening
throwing old journals
onto the fire


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