Drought

Poems by Roger Pfingston

Visiting in Illinois, we travel
by night the one-lane roads
that crisscross the flat land
to the surrounding towns,
roads that once were dirt
made rough by wagons and weather.

Cruising now on black-
top grit, we aim for your
uncle's farm, lighted windows
glowing across fields of beans
and drought-stunted corn.

In the western sky
heat lightning silhouettes
a water tower like a bad joke.