He told me how, after soft afternoons
teaching logarithms and waving away
the blackboard's hieroglyphics with a damp cloth
he'd return home to the sweet methane of the chicken sheds.
How he'd change from his suit into overalls
and how he dug his hand deep into the bucket
to draw out a leaking fist, which he opened,
a sail of grain unfurling to the birds beneath.
The change of clothes signifies a change of mood. This is a job that he has been looking foward to.
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