Counter Culture Blues

The road stretches out right and left
She stands on the side
Looking at the thunderheads above
Trying to capture them, and failing
The sky is that midsummer, dusty color that only happens right before a storm
Only an Oklahoma sky can look like that.
She’s fascinated by a sign
That heralds the attractions of the place she is
But no one is there now.
Just the wind
Rustling through the trees and the grass
Moving through the field across the road
Like whispers coursing through the blades
Cars pass
The children at the house nearby play
But the whole place has such a desolate air
Of counter culture blues
The light wind rolls the dust.



Poem and picture by me.