Drought Country, Six PM
The land’s anemic.
And exhausted.
It can’t work,
can only extend
from toppled fence
to ancient icehouse
and beyond.
Throw down seeds
and they just lie there.
Not even birds come by
to syphon them up.
And the sky is like the soil
only upside down.
No clouds.
No rain.
Not even a breeze
to show the air around
the abandoned properties.
There’s still a house or two
in these parts
but no one’s living in them.
Dilapidated, unpainted,
they look more like moods
than dwellings.
The sun’s setting
on brown stubbled grass,
gives it that golden tinge,
but independent
of anything precious.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Poetry Salzburg Review and Hollins Critic. Latest books, Leaves on Pages, Memory Outside the Head, and Guest of Myself are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Existere, Blueline and International Poetry Review.
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