Goat Heads in the Yard

Goat Heads in the Yard
by Monica Hall

Gonna be another scorcher today.

The sun shines ferociously,

In this place where we dwell.

I refuse to call it home.

For a place that is continually hot,

I have never warmed up to it.

Desert life. No beach. No green lawn.

Three little ones at home.

“Better wear shoes” I warn.

“Watch out for goat heads in the yard”.

I miss my mom.

I have few friends here.

I have one loyal pal, however.

Phil Donahue every afternoon.

Phil, me and Carlo Rossi with a splash of Cactus Cooler.

Every day at 3:00.  A party of sorts – to ease my mind.

Our wallets are empty,

But our trash is always full.

Too many Bud bottles and a box from Nick’s Pizza.

Jimmie is a welcome sight in the evening.

Sawdust in his long hair and a sweat stained t-shirt.

The kids have fallen asleep in front of the television.

“Let’s smoke in the backyard” he says.

We chat and feed the dog.

Jimmie hands me a check.  “I finally got paid” he says.

“We may perish from the heat” I joke, “but we won’t die broke”.

“What’s the temp for tomorrow” he asks.

“104” I answer.  “Gonna be another scorcher”.

1 thought on “Goat Heads in the Yard

  1. A well-captured sense of place identical with a state of mind: every day the same; a monotonous life of excess to make up for nothing of value except trying to get away from it. The desert could be anywhere, including Eliot’s Wasteland. Good lines help perk it up: “For a place that is continually hot, I have never warmed up to it;” “Our wallets are empty, but our trash is always full.”

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