Sausage Factory Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Sausage Factory
On my travels on the countryside I saw this disused road
with weed sprouting through cracks in the asphalt
Followed the road and came to a village that was empty
of people, domestic animals, cats and dogs, with one
exception of an old couple sinewy with faces of leather.
There used to be a small factory here making sausages
owned by two brothers who suddenly moved away.
I asked the couple where the people had gone, France to
find work was the answer I got. The old guy giggled, we’re
too tough! What did he mean? In a hidden small valley
another village is slowly being emptied, there is a small
factory making sausages until it is time to move away.
“Salsias” the name of the firm, I recall buying a tin once
nice meat but a bit sweet for my taste.