Ruby Or A Rose

Saw a black dog today, in the hazy distance, and out here...you can't miss the distance, but you can misinterpret a thing...within it. It was black. It had four legs...moving like a skanky lupe garou, or a brush crouching Mexican. It was probably a black plastic 'trashbag' racing off a tumbleweed, down one of the desert thoroughfares out here, all gone to hell and weeds.

If the government weren't here, with their 'Border trolls', there wouldn't be a 'hushed fart' to hear on the wind...or smell. We have our share of wild dogs out here. They give away the feral cats...to farmers for their barns, their mice and target practice. I saw a black dog. That's what I saw, in the momentary morning...of the great outlaw, that is this zone of mapless dust, and dry arroyo.

They have their fun out here. Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't want to be the poor bastard, unamerican, that walked the gauntlet of this dread unknown...policed by a nation's best corruption. They just leave your bones, Don't even dig a grave to dump them in. The brave new justice. I own out here, but don't go far in these boots of scared shitless. I mind my business, drink my beer...jolt the mornings with a tank of Joe, so stiff...you'd swear...had rigormortis, just as taste'y too.

I didn't ask to end up here...just did, and that's that...an irresistable draw, to buy the cheapest land, in the damndest hell, and bones for all...cause I can't afford anywhere else. There's nice people here, Mexicans, native Americans, probably Federal too. They all have to live somewhere. Lots of history, bones of years gone by...sticking from the sand...death pale, in the bleaching sun. Buzzards roosting on the power poles, picking teeth with cactus thorn.

Listen to the power hum, down the old power lines, to end their trip in somebody's shack...amid the Soap Tree Yucca beauty, burning their bright lights, to chase away the ghosts of every day and night. This is my place, now...that I embrace, because...she's lovely, in a way, I can't describe...a kind of 'Ruby', or a rose.

Saw a black dog, out there in the distance...old friend, I think...running his poor little pads off, to meet in time...when I got to go home...like a well oiled clock. Save the dog a bone, leave it in the dust, walk away from what's worn down...replacement parts, I hope to god...a better younger dome, a better younger boy, than this old boy ever was...a stick and bag of jewels, for another fool to carry on, a fool with my eyes.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Desert Rose on a Paddle cactus, google pic