by John Grey
There was the time it rained barely a drop for three long years.
And the cattle died, fields turned to dust.
But still the farmer’s wife bore one more child.
The river resisted but the sun was too much.
Eventually its bed was baked clay.
Birds either died of thirst or migrated.
And then the family, in fear of the former, did the latter.
The land is bathed in floodwaters now.
Once the waters subside, it’ll green up hereabouts,
convince some other poor fool they can make a go of it.
But then the drought will return,
the same torturous cycle
that provides no leeway for dreams.
No rain for three long years.
Dead cattle, fields of dust.
And another child…
a sucker at the breast
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, City Brink and Tenth Muse. Latest books, “Subject Matters”,” Between Two Fires” and “Covert” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Paterson Literary Review, Amazing Stories and Cantos.
