It had come to this -
crawling around in a scorching field
somewhere near Bulgaria.
He was fifty,
doing the work he did
as a boy.
Same wages, too.
His bed was the back of a pickup truck.
There was nothing else,
although he tried to see it
philosophically.
He thought he knew it all.
At the end of the second week
the wolves got him.
His own fault.
He'd been told to be careful
at night.
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