Walking to the Auto Shop
John G. Young, M.D.
In the distance a puddle shines,
But there’s no water.
Poles pulse in the sun
Like Persian dancers
Behind veils.
I walk past wheat fields,
Stalks arch with the weight of grain.
Sunflowers smile,
But their raspy leaves
Invite no touch.
Beneath my feet,
Dried grass, paper, broken glass,
Cigarette butts, small stones and heat…
We left Washington state
Cold and wet four days ago.