the heat

the heat

The blue bird that flew over the houses had wings cast shadows
in

the olive grove, the docile mule bolted kicked over the
bucket of water,

I had carried from the well it jumped over a stone fence
didn’t make it

 fell broke a leg. I
called my neighbour he likes to kill things, something

unresolved from his childhood I think

All that blood a small river trickled and sank into parched
ground, where

autumnal flowers sprung up and hid the dead body in an orgy
of colours,

that got brighter and brighter when feasting on decay till
they exploded

into a shower of rainbows which attracted dark clouds, and
it rained;

huge drops- bigger than crocodile tears after laying eggs in
the sand and

digging them up when time is right, taking them down to the
water

hoping they would survive in their cruel habitat we call nature.

Next day the mule grazed as before, docile as nothing had
happened,

but under an olive tree, I found a knife with dry blood, my
neighbour

was yonder trimming almond trees that now have brown leaves
and

full of nuts. 
“Hollered didn`t you shot my mule last night?” 

“He shouted back it was a mistake I shot my mule your mule
is OK,

It just had a wounded knee.