by Don Thompson

Published in Issue No. 217 ~ June, 2015

This place has turned its back

on moisture,

refusing to put up with

anything even vaguely green.

The wind is a dry cough.


I feel parched here, convinced

my bones want to unload me —

to rid themselves at last

of that fifty percent water content

and lie in the sun, bleached

and uncluttered, simple as sticks.

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Don Thompson has been publishing poetry since the early sixties, including several books and chapbooks in this century. Back Roads won the 2008 Sunken Garden Poetry Prize. An LA Times profile, “Planted in the San Joaquin,” remains available online. Visit his website at for links to his books.