In the Land of Plenty by Jayne Martin

                         ​Tripp CC



In the Land of Plenty

In the glow of the pink morning sky, a flock of seagulls follows a garbage truck as it rumbles by a highway underpass where mounds of tarps, newspapers, and faded Hefty bags begin to stir with life. Rosemary emerges from the rubble, shivers, and tugs a knitted hat over her grey, matted hair. She stands on stiffened legs, reaches into her shirt pocket and pulls out the last of a dry bagel. One by one, others rise and flank out into the city. 

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A chainlink fence surrounds a schoolyard where children seated at wooden tables pull sandwiches, cookies, and chips from superhero decorated lunch pails. A boy takes a bite of his sandwich. Disappointed, he tosses that half in a garbage can, trades the remaining half with another boy who has done the same. Rosemary stands outside the fence, her fingers entwined in the metal web, as the can fills by the time the bell rings. 
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An Applebee’s banner touts “All You Can Eat Riblets.” At a window booth, a family of four tosses down their napkins and leaves. Their plates, heavy with remains, are carried to the kitchen and scraped into a waste can. Around back, the steel mouth of the garbage truck grinds open to consume the contents of an overflowing bin. Gulls swoop in for escaping scraps. The truck pulls out past Rosemary as she scavenges through a metal trash can at the curb.
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Behind a Safeway market, a mother helps her two sons climb up into a dumpster, urging them to hurry. They hand down crowns of broccoli, lettuce, cobs of corn, apples and bananas barely brown. Rosemary shuffles toward them. The boys stiffen, their eyes darting between the two women on the ground. The mother takes an apple from her bag and offers it to Rosemary. A gull lands at their feet. Then another. 
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Shadows fall as the sun begins its descent. Rosemary returns to her refuge under the highway, careful to guard the worn plastic bag containing today’s spoils from the others. One by one, bodies disappear under the makeshift shelters from which they came, now just lifeless forms to the eyes of motorists passing by. 

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Steel bellies full, the procession of garbage trucks roll up the steep incline to the rim of a cavernous landfill. Jaws open wide, regurgitating the day’s bounty. Overhead, gulls screech, circle and dive, eager to feast. 

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Jayne Martin lives in Santa Barbara, California. She is a Pushcart, Best Small Fictions, and Best Microfictions nominee, and a recipient of Vestal Review’s VERA award. Her debut collection of microfiction, “Tender Cuts,” from Vine Leaves Press, is available now. www.jaynemartin-writer.com Twitter: @Jayne_Martin. Facebook: Jayne Martin-Author

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