The Drought

the barns bulge with rot. heaps of marrow and turnip gone black and swollen. the harvest turning to mush under the glare of the sun. out on the land, the cattle drop, legs buckling into the dust, the hides split and caked in flies.

dust blown into the furrows. the dirt won’t hold a seed. the heat coming right through the boot soles, baking the feet until the leather cracks. the rains are gone. three months of nothing but a dry white glare. the wind rattling the fence posts.

no fix for it.

just the sky flat, beating down day after day. the horizon vibrating with the heat haze. kids carrying zinc buckets back from the borehole, old men sitting on the porch looking at the dirt. everything parched. stalled. the air smelling of dead grass and hot iron.

cattle dead in the dust,
the borehole dried to mud,
wire ticking in the wind.