White Nile Blues

The cloud of dust is taciturn.
It doesn't tell you whether
Who is speeding toward you
Through the corn rows is
Your friend or foe. The sun
Is hot. It's getting late.
There isn't anywhere to run.
Retrieve your water jug and
Squat, and hope to see
Before you're seen, and
Gaze again at everything.
This day could be your last.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 46 times
Written on 2014-01-23 at 11:40

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