we moved in
for ryan jenkins

shotgun shells over
mound of dirt--
as a play place
whether you're going
here, or
here,
or it's gravel road for miles. and dirt.

humid summer suffocates
drenched in sweat
feel
acrid reek of sheep farm
a country mile
to the east
seep between
the cracks of your leather

half indian boy
swims in a river
wanders into the neighbor field
step on fresh manure
walls you can feel a breeze through
hear the expanding plain
stretch you
from falls city to scottsbluff

whip of wind
against
white washed walls
is nothing
to trouble
pioneer family
drags behind
because this
is a temporary stay
it will pass.
all of it.