I remember the tent.
I remember the coyote footprints.
I remember the blue-gray juniper berries on bushes
and the pine scent bruised needles release to the air.
I remember cleaning up the trash littering the arroyo
and how it took three trips to cart it out
on the winding trail my mountain bike navigated.
I remember the size ten black tennis shoe
and wondered for a few moments
what kind of hurry causes you to leave behind a shoe.
I remember there were no signs
of border patrol jeeps or trucks or jackboots
and the birds flitted about as they do
when nothing dangerous is in the area.
I remember the hum that turned into a buzz
how the sound cocked my ear northward,
and the sight of a military style drone
high above the buffalo grass and rabbit brush,
its camera turning this way and that.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney