Before we traded ranches,
your mother witched a well
that artesianed into a trough
to water cattle, that overflowed
to fill a pond twenty-four seven
without turning a wheel.
Before we traded ranches
you had tenants
that wanted more
to irrigate cannabis
with a pump and gas generator—
pulled granite sand and pebbles
to dam the crack
where water ran underground
from Sierra peaks
to the wellhead freely.
Married now to a generator,
storage tank and pump,
I pack gas and oil,
carry electrical testers,
tools and spare capacitors,
for a second well we drilled
too deep for solar
to water cattle in a trough
that never overflows.
Are you going to attend the Curley Fletcher Birthday Poetry Reading in September in Bishop?
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I was invited, but i don’t think so. Say hi to Fiddling’ Pete and Catherine.
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Will do!
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Well, John, that pretty well sums it up, doesn’t it.
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I hope so.
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