December Drought Poem by E Russell Smith
December Drought
A laid-off rigger and his pregnant wife
luck out in one particular:
persistent dog days.
Monday-Friday they sleep rough
in a meager withered patch
beside the Baptist church,
and take off weekends,
not to agitate uptight parishioners.
Their nights are cold
with two thin blankets, under and over.
We find down bags for them,
and leave them snug.
Pasadena CA
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 9:06:49 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
