Feast of the Dead

brutal sun broils the desert sand

above they fly in a lazy circle, patient, waiting

something is dead or dying.

soon they will enjoy a Feast of the Dead.

he drove a beat-up old red Chevy pickup

told her they were going to Del Rio

but he never planned for her to get that far

planned a Feast of the Dead

she was leaving him

it made him crazy

he couldn’t stand it

one of them had to die

but she fought back, grabbed the gun

the shot echoed in the hot air
he panicked, slipped, she grabbed the keys, 

took off, turned the tables on him

now she was gone, now he was alone

no water, no shelter, no sound
 a hundred miles of rock and heat

a lot of time to think about choices

as they circle, circle

eyes watching him

walk, then crawl, then lie still

waiting for their Feast of the Dead.