Snow Pigeons

Two snow pigeons are sitting on a maple branch looking at lanky Benjamin, who is carrying carrier bags full to the bursting point with root vegetables. His muscles are stretched out like elastic band and he wonders whether he should start going to the gym, which Elsa wants him to. It is several degrees above zero and he is sweating abundantly. Benjamin unbuttons his winter jacket and takes off his frying smelling acryl wool cap. Elsa likes his long locks; they remind her of the fair young men, considerably younger than Benjamin, who she was united with when she was young. Yesterday, however, she noticed a minimal skin patch on his scalp. Elsa is passionately fond of the cult of youth.

     He takes a short cut across the field; his crêpe rubber soles sink into the spongy slush grass. Benjamin inhales the wonderful earth smell. The sun is becoming like rape oil. There are many pooper-scooper bags on the ground, both black and pink ones; he finds the last-mentioned especially repulsive. The dog owners have probably missed the two mango-shaped holes in the litterbin above. A smoking jogger runs through the stained slush and blows smoke out of his nostrils. Benjamin is peering at the top of the melting snow waste mountain. Up there, a hazelnut-brown cat is sleeping.

© 2011 Jenny Enochsson