1.
When the droughts hit the backland they make
the vulture into a civil servant—free no more.
He doesn’t try to escape. He’s known for a long time
that they’d put his technique and his touch to use.
He says nothing of services rendered, of diplomas
which entitle him to better pay.
He serves the drought-dealers like an altar-boy,
with a green-horn zeal, veteran though he is,
mercifully dispatching some who may not be dead,
when in private life he cares only for bona fide corpses.
2.
Though the vulture’s a conscript, you can soon tell
from his demeanor that he’s a real professional:
his self-conscious air, hunched and advisory,
his umbrella-completeness, the clerical smoothness
with which he acts, even in a minor capacity—
an unquestioning liberal professional.
Translated by W. S. Merwin