Michael Cluff

Days' Work

Mocking crucifix,

I make money

standing out here

in the Coachella valley,

scaring crows

through animation, 

the usual human ones

I  normally lack

Make $12 an hour

from sun-up to dusk,

just moving enough to

throw the crows off,

Oz dancing not a prerequisite

although in a pinch,

a jug or rhumba is

not impossible

for me.

Been here since the beginning of Lent,

I plan not to leave

until the days of their craven labour 

and my watching orange and lemon trees

is over.

" A mockery of God's good intentions,"

Suzanne scolds

as the hominy and okra

reach our plates

while Peter retreats

to work his charms

on almonds, olives

and fish

Today, Thursday,

I feel the sun

on my back a bit too

thin and little,

then release my arms

rub my rope-chaffed near-bleeding wrist and brow

and palms

and slide down

the almost dry cement ditch

to the barn 

hand my red, limp bandana

and rusticated straw hat in

walk

wonderfully 

into a waiting, panting desert

between a sea of man-made

salinity and mountains

of moon-like blankness,

bleakness

and soul-saving solitude

and temporary solemnity.

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