Drought is a broken clay cup,
unglazed orange clay, with all the names of hunger written around the rim.
Drought is a rusted-out old bucket
that smells of rotten metal and death.
Drought is the handmaid of Famine and the herald of Fire.
Drought is a mob of windup metal woodpeckers
that hammer the trees and bleed the weaker ones to death.
Drought is a mouthful of brown stumps
chewing through a tangle of bleached grass and dead ivy.
Someone left a cracked porcelain sink on the sidewalk.
Drought is the holes that stare from the basin.
Books Available
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside
Sunday, October 10, 2021
Drought Stares Back
Labels:
climate journal,
free verse,
poetry
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1 comment:
Those windup metal woodpeckers are haunting. And the holes in the sink.
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