The Dry Going By
Desert sauna—
her home but never mine
and I don’t mind.
In consumed dust and barren earth
lifelong rooted
trapped in perpetual hell fire—
both night and day.
Visible heat swirls—
116 degrees of them
clutching and clawing my unprotected throat
and robbing me of my limited breath.
Too many cacti
Lemmy’s overkill to my eyes,
which are so very desperate
for lush greenery, a cooler climate
and a modicum of civilization.
Open air, suffocating placidity
my happiness evaporating
in the tedious buff—
devoid of vegetation
and obvious animal habitation.
and all of this
the dry going by
viewed from my passenger window
violated by the devil’s dust.
Contest: Open Poetry 3 Poetry Contest (placed 6th)
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
Written: April 22, 2021
Copyright © Courtney Hubbert | Year Posted 2021
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