A whopping poof of smoky powder
Flies through the kitchen
Just from tying my laces.
My walking shoes and Charlie
Have walked every day
In wind
Which changes direction
by the hour.
But not the content.
exposed topsoil
Foolhardy are we
to believe in a
vanquished Nature
that Dustbowl eras ended.
Yet, here it is in my kitchen.
Specks of Montana and Oklahoma
Dancing in the sunlight. from the
Sunroom window
Where the aspen trees twist dangerously
In daily Breezy conditions.

I worry about the warm days.
I worry about the trees leafing
out in January.
thousands of white bags
Roiling down the alleys
Headed for the Gulf of Mexico.
Or Alternately by the hour
The Arctic Circle.

I worry about Spring
Where certainly, as is often true,
Mother Nature will sing her revenge.
Mud packed snow will pile 4 feet high
Cement- like against the doors
Tornados will fly over
Your town or mine
laughing demonic dancers
Taking our cars, sheds and garages.

Charlie won’t move today
from his new
Two ply bed.
Not even when I pick up his leash.
Clouds of dust fluff from his ears
When he shakes his head, No. No.
coughing like an asthmatic.

I scream at the constantly
Grey dirt sky.
People are staring at me.
I brake my car in the middle
of the abandoned Street
for a mass of contractor’s plastic
choking honeysuckle,
Frightening my passengers
and a few lookers on.

It is full of powder.
Idaho. I decide.
maybe a pebble or two of Nevada


  1. and now there be the SNOW o’life! what say we – ahh the dreaded rodent saw his shadow! he always does we always wanted him to not see his shadow growing up in walden – this will slow down the lilacs, the tulips 4 shore. peace to charles

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