Glare penetrates at autumn angles.
Hillsborough’s warmth persists: drought
Does not discriminate. It looks like your
Typical colorburst fall, but leaves this dry
Disintegrate to dust, no bonfires needed.
Here, where suburbs sprawl, front porches
Matted, where thousands of gallons of water
Are sprayed to keep what once was lush forest
Green. Where clay, now so dusty it reddens
Windows, splints shins after two miles of hike.
It’ll take more than compost to veggie garden
This back lawn: a full load of topsoil from
A distant state, atop a load of dry whoop-ass
Distributed evenly over earth, now so solid
That digging is futile. Sparse October, while
Others are harvesting we slug to the store
Buying organic broccoli, miso concoctions,
Seven grain bread, to keep our half-spent
Bodies in youth, now long gone. No shovel
Can humanly dig into this earth. You work
So we eat, we eat and are fed, you work the
Last fields, we eat and are fed, you plant the
Genetics, we eat and are fed, you rise up to
Greet the dust bowl, and we are not fed. We
Have no place to plant our veggies this year.
Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2000. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.