Dust Devil Days

A parched wind still circles the dust devils corralling them in funneled fury. The old rooster atop the barn squeaks as the weather changes as do the joints in the old blue jeans. Hard black coffee bubbles on the stove, her apron hangs a memory on the chair, an old screen door shudders, slams shut, an old dog curses the dust. Bowed heads watch as he laces his boots, reaches for that damned hat, sips the last of the coffee runs his fingers across the hanging apron whispers “I love you”, sets off to worship in the shrine of their lives. ©5/7/2018 submitted to – Hillbillies Bybillies and Blowbillies – Poetry contest sponsor – Caren Krutsinger