Jonathan Davis

No chance for rain for the foreseeable,
Not that anyone is good at forecasting,
Not before, not now,
A single cloud hovers alone above,
A sad clown in a warm, humorless sky,
A sign of nothing to come before sunset,
Hanging heavily on Easter Sunday,
The monsoons will probably come in July,
Maybe an occasional torrent,
Maybe here maybe over there,
Maybe we will soon see spring’s first hummingbird,
But all is not in limbo,
The vultures floating above a sure sign of life after death,
A sign says For Sale, in the box there is no flyer,
This is not a place for the remorseful buyer since the pandemic,
Houses sell as soon as they are listed, even before, as cannabis profits soar,
Filthy lucre cannot be laundered in banks or made white by cleansing blood,
Somehow we are still a pair here on the ground,
I really do not know why you opened your door
To an idle March ram
Unable to move, even when my Chinese rooster roared,
You were the chick magnet,
Yet you were my golden goose’s egg sunny side up.
In this place of relative bliss so late in our careers,
Across the morning sky all the clouds have already left,
Who knows where they, or the time, go, are they together?
Maybe we will be here together next year,
Maybe not,
Send in the clouds
And the hummingbirds.

Jonathan E. Davis is a senior double-majoring in Creative Writing and French. In his spare time, he volunteers in support of Afghan soldiers and their families, who stood side by side on the battlefield with American soldiers and who are now residents of Las Cruces, and he volunteers as a medical Spanish interpreter for asylum seekers from Latin America and the Caribbean who are in Las Cruces.