Unseasonably Warm
Sept 14 2009


It’s desert dry
the sun high, and merciless.
The road goes by
50 feet from my door;
mostly sand, bits of gravel
spit-out like shrapnel
from passing cars.
They rumble past in a fury of dust,
usually oblivious
to the small frame house
hammered-up
in the middle of nowhere.

It’s been 2 days
looking-out, a hand shading my eyes
since I’ve seen anyone go by.
The road bakes.
Heat waves
rise-up, shimmering,
turning the stagnant air liquid
— like a parched tongue
licking dry cracked lips.

Cicadas buzz;
only the males, I’m told,
signalling their loneliness, desire
their loud abrasive fitness.
And I swear, I wouldn’t be surprised
to see a tumbleweed roll by,
out of the spruce and pine forest.
A diamondback
slither past on its silky belly,
rattler poised.
Or an armadillo
sunning on the road.

I hear voices
on the radio,
reassured I’m not alone;
that the world hasn't ended
quite yet.
For days, now
they’ve been saying rain;
but the sky stays clear, relentless.

On a rough dirt road
through a tinder forest;
way too far north
for rattlers, and sand-storms,
for bleached white bones.