In
New
Mexico,
It
Should
Rain
Every
Day,
Or
High
Winds
Come
And
Blow
What’s
Not
Secure
Two
States
Away.
What’s
Left
Catches
Fire
And
Burns
Cheerfully,
The
Population
Tearfully
Concerned.
‘The
Bosque',
They
Shriek,
‘Is
Blazing
Twice
A
Week!’
Meantime,
To
Divert
The
Anxious
Tribe,
Spring
Allergies
Arrive,
And
We
All
Inhale
Strange
Pollen
To
Survive.
Life
In
The
Desert
Can
Be
Touch
And
Go,
My
Weariness
Is
Apt
To
Show.
Some
Days
I think
It’s
A
Pity
I ever
Left
New
York
City.