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Black Sunday
Eastbound into Hooverville
A black abrasive cloud
Tumbled high with devil silt
On wheat fields over-plowed
Invading every tenant house
Through every sealed crack
It scoured out the rolling hills
Obliterating tracks
Choking horses rearing back
And dancing dizzy four-steps
Left riders groping in their yards
For safety at their doorsteps
Loose and shallow graveyards with
Positions gone unfixed
Were windy talcum moonscapes
By the spring of thirty-six
The golden waving harvest crops
A distant memory
As broken pioneers embraced
Persistent poverty
Breadbasket of the nation proved
Unequal to the test
The parched panhandle denizens
Would soon be heading west
In flimsy rolling caravans
Escaping heat by night
Confronting hard-faced bigotry
And quite prepared to fight
[Apr 19, 2005]
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The
Poetry of Daniel Harrison