rdking.net

Collected Poetry

    (rd king dot net)
poetry and digital art

In California

  Quail 


1.

All day the cows have drifted
in twos and threes
across the rolling pasture.

I could not remember it
looking like that before—
the cows had moved

into the long umbra of bronchial
oak trees.  It did seem unkind
but not unpleasant.  The creek

could barely whisper to them.
Lupine bloomed purple-white-blue
spots across the pasture and down

to the little, sandy beach
where the creek was dammed.
Evening was coming on.


2.

A thought ran its length and went.
Something was bothering the quail,
something behind the bunkhouse—but I

could not see what it was.  The wind
blew.  The horses watched us quietly
with one eye.  The wind blew

and then it ceased.  Some clouds
had caught on the cottonwoods.
It was an open and pleasant view

from the porch.  It was warm.
Sadness seemed like a part of this
somewhere as the little oaks sat

like cats upon the rolling hills.
The moon started above the mountains
to the south and looked like

it would go full.  The locusts ceased.
Some of the men were already drunk.
Most of the girls were pretty.

I leaned against the cab door
and opened another beer, something
quiet was still bothering the quail.




 
        back | ToC

© 2015 rdking