Sonnet: Drought
In this one we see the farmer you saw on TV, talking
through dry, parched, cracked lips about the unfairness of it all,
of how the upstream counties and states *always* have first
dibs on the river's water whenever the river has water.
Behind him and his interviewer is a plate-glass window, beyond
which we see a city street corner, traffic whizzing past, pedestrians
pausing to preen and reach for their cell phones when they see their
images on the monitors above the window on national TV, and he
looks oddly out of place, sitting there in his boots and denims,
jabbing one finger at his ear whenever the earpiece feels like it's
about to slip loose. He shares his fears that the government's
about to reduce the price supports that keep him "afloat."
He grins and makes little airborne quotation marks with two fingers
of each hand. Outside on the sidewalk, pedestrians lean this way
and that, trying to let themselves be seen beyond his denim jacket's
shoulders on national TV. His moment over, he thanks his interviewer
and expresses his hope that we'll all understand his problems and
needs, and that we'll all do our level best to save the family farm.
Hal
Halvard Johnson
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website: http://home.earthlink.net/~halvard
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