Oklahoma dust migrated
through clouds and jetstreams
over prairies and the shoulders
of glass and metal towers.
It rests, exhausted dirt hitched
onto truck beds, snuggled
into chrome, Gulf bound.
Louisiana swamp rain, pure
as clouds and more clever,
rumbles in tongue-hot to splatter
and splatter flat drops against
every steel roof, sideview mirror,
ball hitch, and license plate,
to push down the dust
into sewers, and grillwork,
and dandylion yards.
The rain moves across rice farms,
Hill Country, and pastures of cows.
Behind, it leaves the Okie dust
broken, strangled in mud,
and gasping by the roadside
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