Lined up on a clean white rag.
Mama takes a rest.
The Winged Menace
Cackles from high up his tree.
Goats chew cud below.
Children feed the goats.
Hay sticks to their shirts and pants.
Man, it’s so itchy.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKuFihsn-cqBCvVHt1EhhcpXtj8G4gii8yyF_rlAv83eS4XZiT-9wxh_55fZ8nTAkVNGuUErMEPifHxK1ctUpWk7lNmHo-yw8UzzaPL29WwLfjqPxP1tZV-H5cW8rz0mSc6SJ2XqKIuQT/s400/google+in+field.jpg)
Front
end, back end, switch.
Up, down, on the log, away.
Dog guards from afar.
Sun beats down on backs.
Dust floats up from parched red earth.
Time grinds to a halt.
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