(The mimosa part shortened and other changes to tighten.  Thomas?)

The Sizzle of Sour Smoke

Smoke still
smolders on Snow Peak.

South and east,
dust devils roil across scratched fields,
North, hedgerows turn.

Under the porch,
a skinny boy,
knees scrapped,
cheek blue and raw,
clutches a half-starved pup,
and listens to chickens scratch the muddy yard,
cars come and go,
dogs corral a newborn calf,
howl and yelp as pellets find their mark,
the bull tests fencing,
swayback horses in the far pasture crowd the back gate,
slaps,
curses,
screen door slams,
car starts,
the heavy trod of boots,
an ass settles into the porch rocker,
bottles open,
muffled sobs.

Under porch and rocker,
children sleep.

*

A broken mimosa limb touches the ground.
Hidden by briar,
nettle,
morning glory,
it settles into the wet earth.

Cone, seed, nut, fruit, root.
Oak, ivy, apple, holly, pine.

Spring's rich earth
absorbs winter.

In Vegas, they don't give odds
as to which will
die or survive.

My money is on the mimosa.

*

West, wild geese raise the morning
on their way
to evening.

On Snow peak,
firefighters
begin their fifth day of mop-up,
a small fire,
less than forty-seven acres.

A cougar sniffs the air
and moves her kits towards Tom Rock.

*

West, an old man smells sour smoke
and dreams of wet porches,
chickens,
and broken bottles,

black bears
and dead chipmunks,

unable
to return
home,
again.





Aug Chuck and Centrum at: http://gardawg.homestead.com/gardawg.html

*New*  Wild/Eliot  Hyperpoem at:  http://wildhyper.homestead.com/front.html

Poets for Peace.  ¡Poemas sí, balas no!