Rural Wind By The Border

It was more like the songs played us
after observing the dogs walking us.

A horse mulls about the pasture
trying to remember the lyrics to a torch song.

If you flag the Greyhound down
it halts and picks you up

without the nicety of a bus stop
but you better be going east or west.

A whisper stalked through
the cornfield this morning.

It gently told me something
I could not translate from its Spanish.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

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