Four Strands
The metal is rusted with age,
And the Cedar is colored with time.
The four strands of barbwire stretch
From post to post, protecting the cattle
From the road and the road from the cattle.
As the wind blows strong,
The grass and trees flow with the
Rhythm of God’s breath. But the fence
Stands solid, as a shepherd guarding his sheep.
Along one of the posts sits a tire.
The tire is soiled and worn with time.
As far as I know, the tire could be
Holding up the fence. The tire is
Not phased by the gusts of wind.
The sun reflects off the paved road.
A small mesquite tree grows close to
The barbwire strands. With each blast
Of wind, the adamant branches strike
The metal wire. The sound created is like
The sound of releasing an arrow from a bow.
In the field, dark machines rock back and forth.
The oil rigs pump man’s greed and take it out
Of the Earth. The wind continues its rage and dust
Begins to lift off of the ground forming dust clouds.
A lone tumbleweed hovers over the road and surrenders against the fence.