TEN LITTLE INDIANS

 

IMG_4293

 

You could hear them

from the squash and cucumbers,
from the tomatoes where the rattler
stretched upon damp dirt to cool his belly,
in that no man’s land of prickly pear
and grape canes claiming shade trees
on the periphery of ripening vegetables—

their incessant tittering within: military
training before their first tour of the garden
scouted at the peak of heat days before,
our lawn of weeds this side of roadrunners
nesting in the cottonwood under
the surveillance of a pair of crows.

The only green for miles of hard
baked clay and blond dry fuzz,
a microcosm of good wet years,
the wild moves in, gathers to include
us—horses, dogs and feral cats—
into a sustainable family.

Tree frogs on the move, hopping
sojourns at dusk and dawn bring
the King snake tracking Garter snakes
that ignore us, stay out from underfoot.
We have no choice but to share
our little space and water in a drought.

We will count the covey into the future,
measure training into evenings, watch
for Bobcats and Coopers Hawks on patrol.
No place for soft hearts, politics,
or too much attention—no one wants
or can afford to run for election.

 

5 responses to “TEN LITTLE INDIANS

  1. I love those little buzz bombs and how when shot at they can dig a hole and pull it in after them never to be seen again. Short time later you can hear them call to rally and thumb their nose at you.
    ~Boy without a dog.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Love the quails and your photo is great. Your poem is really cool too! Happy Fourth!

    Liked by 1 person

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