Last Hike In The Foothills

Dianne’s fingers pierced an orange.
The car filled with a citrus smell.

A miniature Wild Turkey bottle
started our litter collection.

A coyote trotted up hill away from our approach.
It topped the ridge and looked back.

We counted thirty-two bird nests.
And thirty-two fearfully glaring mothers.

We drew twenty-seven fish symbols
swimming down the sandy arroyo.

An unleashed Jack Russell approached us.
Its owner shouted from a distance He is friendly.

One metallic Happy Birthday balloon
hovered above a rabbitbrush patch.

Sixty-six colorful plastic bags of dog poop
highlight the trail sides.

Nine blue paper face masks
dotted the accumulated litter we toted to the can.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

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