The asphalt dries under the rising sun.
A crow steps over the broken glass,
tossed pebbles and fast food litter
of the road’s tattered shoulder.

Where they flock they block the view
of a midnight miscalculation carcass.
Hunks of flesh are ripped
and throats tip back to take it in.

A tumbleweed rolls into the sage
and parks against a wire fence
with a third rail electrified
to zap the grazing cow come too close.

A fence post flycatcher
zips up into the air,
performs winged acrobatics
and returns.

The cloudless sky promises
a deluge of heat,
the rising ripples
fool the watering eye.

A roadrunner dashes crazy loops.
A dance. Lunacy. A religious
practice summoning more rain
to bring the burrowing munchies to the surface.

copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

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