Clean the Crosses

My friend, Joe, sits in his backyard. A dove lands on a branch of his shade tree. His cat, Luna, notes the winged meal but lazes contentedly. The wind flutes through the branches, banks into a fence where a vine grows undistrubed. Joe occasionally hears screeching tires on nearby Missouri Ave. as people make their way to work. Nature can inspire Joe to write beautiful poems.

My friend, Dick, sits on his deck, admires the Organ mountains while the setting sun casts a lavender sheen. He imagines all the rooftops in his view forming waves, his deck becoming an ocean liner, his plastic lawn seat a sturdy captain’s chair, his wife standing near the bow, hair billowing sensuously in the early evening mist. Nature can inspire Dick to write beautiful poems.

My inspiration is a bumper sticker. A lawsuit was filed against the city of Las Cruces (City of Crosses) to remove crosses from official city logos. I go to Walmart, park next to a van with a bumper sticker that says, “Save the Crosses.” I agree with the van, “Save the Crosses,” but I wonder if the bodies could be removed each day before sunrise. They upset most of the tourists.