by John Stupp Roger Starnes Sr. The world His scrap yard —  the parish priest said on Sunday I didn’t think anything of it you could smell the rectory garden outside in the lot next door by the early corn in ’59 later at the Ford foundry I helped a forklift operator lift car parts and iron into piles of confetti like a priest give me a cigarette will you he said from time to time I didn’t think anything of it the whole shift the sun was burning above the plant close to God