Hearth

The fire’s smoke:
so much red-orange tinsel.

Atop the chimney cowl, ravens
warehouse rising heat.

Our walls murmur
yesterday’s conversations.

I received from you one dozen kisses,
so much like pink roses.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

Hitchhiking

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