High Desert Spring
by Armando Ortiz
A week ago poppies with ripe orange tints,
carpeted the hills of the Antelope Valley.
Today I only see a scattered quilt
of cool yellows, faint violets, and brown patches.
Now the dry poppies shiver under the toasting sun,
And the wind dances tango with the golden grass.
A lizard sticks its head out from the desert fibers,
And from a distance I hear a voice say, “Cold beers!”
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