Bone tired and homesick,
Riding the Blacklands
Shadows in the draw
Night coming on too soon
Storm broods, angry sky
Clouds pent up,
Gray-green with hail
Tasting thick, icy-cold
Water drops with each breath
Howlin’ wind chills my neck,
Finds holes in my work jeans
And brush-torn hat
Feeling flat, empty pockets,
In a slicker too thin to cover this job,
No weight in my saddlebags,
Ammunition, picket pin, two more matches,
And her sweet, perfumed letter
Rations gone yesterday
Canteen’s dry since noon
Eastern Screech Owl
Sounds even lonelier than me
Don’t know which is worse,
Aching heart or empty belly
Finally, ahead, familiar shapes,
Ranch house roof and curling chimney smoke
Written for:
Poetry Partners
King's Daughter's Kitchen 