shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Don Thompson



Nothing grows near greasewood
with its tar pot odor
and thirst
that sucks up every drop.

So the shrub stands alone in gravel
rising from its own bones
in tatters—as sordid
as the undead.

And yet you willingly hold your breath
to pause and admire
its shaggy yellow flowers—
shriveled in the heat, perhaps,
but perennial.