The River Bottom When nearly twenty-one I smoked filtered cigars And leaned on a rotten shed Next to a rusted-out bar-b-que To look beyond dry flat fields Quietly I sobbed Looking at the Mariposa Mountains They were tremendous gods In the California sky Unwrapping another cigar I studied orange groves behind an endless fence Just before the foothills I whispered I don’t want to die But there I died The day before I climbed that fence Just after crossing the river bottom Dry and dead and still holding its stones I walked up and down orange hills Dusty and hot and thirsty Having looked at bright sun and blue sky I took off my shirt And weeping and sweating Whispered I don’t want to die But there I died.
Posted on: Sun, 26 Oct 2014 19:45:50 +0000
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