Today's poem is by Margo Davis

Dirt Poor
       

The lake is really a slate roof. A duck
gliding across the smooth surface
is a plastic bag gulping hot air.
The duck's path, a power line gone slack.
If I squint, my shadow forms a storm cloud,
the whiff of creosote forecasts rain
and that strewn hub cap that rap-taps
across the pock-marked highway, music
to my tapping foot. Sunlight glances off
the pie tin dancing in the bare-bones
fig tree. A curious blue jay won't mistake
bed sheets whipping the clothesline
for thunderclap clap-snapping.
It's not raindrops landing on fault
lines in my garden that I watch for.
It's something less essential, more.

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Copyright © 2023 Margo Davis All rights reserved
from Quicksilver
FinishingLine Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission