8

Numbered boxes in a row
Letters sorted
Parcels stacked
But not before a close inspection

The town bulletin board
A satiated sponge
And broken spigot
That can’t turn off

She rules her domain
A public servant
Insisting its her duty
To be well-informed

False concern and
Counterfeit care
Feeds her cache of minutiae
To spew on the locals

Come evening, the door is closed
The small building empty
Preparing for tomorrow’s flurry
Of town folk needing their fix

– Shiraz