The mud has turned to a puzzle of scabs

The mud has turned to a puzzle of scabs,

pulling away from the banks

until the creek is just a memory

of something that used to move.

The shopping cart sits upright now,

wheels choked with dried silt,

a rusted cage for the air.

It looks like it’s waiting for a shopper

who will never come wading through the dust.

The air smells like old copper

and the slow rot of things

the water finally let go.