FOREMAN - ken poyner

I knew there was no getting back to the train station at the edge of the Salar de Uyuni. I had refined lithium in my hands and no amount of explanation was to make me welcomed again.

On the banister just ahead stretching alone on the flats a woman was draped by the waist. Oh don’t have those thoughts. She was fully clothed. Fully clothed. Not all abuse involving lone women and odd construction is sexual. There is so much more. Like school girls on endless staircases. Or stout men with three sided doors.

No matter. One day I would be a magnate, someone who could turn the earth’s resources into cash, a ready liquidity that would stupefy all around me.

My hands were becoming rough from the sun and lack of water. I could not hold my lithium crystals for long and I feared that the birds without trees or water or migratory instincts might by accident take them – though, in that state, the crystals were worth nothing and it was my carrying them that counted.

One day I would be mayor. And I would know there are no wild birds in the Salar de Uyuni. And I would build an aviary to hold imported birds, all of species with no business in this climate: species that sit on whimsically constructed baffles, alone and valuable, hopping from table to chair to table and knowing no better.

But not today.

Ken Poyner
Return to the City of White Donkeys
James Tate