Imagination Running Amok

Palo Verde branches enfold
arms of the saguaro cactus
rooted deep in Sonoran sand and time


snuggled as if in lover’s embrace
satiated and spent
in sweltering heat

or perhaps

finger-like branches
brushing the five o’clock shadow
of an old west bandit
arms uplifted
as if peering down Winchester’s barrel

but maybe

a centuries-old grave marker
roots tangled with buried baby bones
pitiful reminder of forgotten pioneers
in wooden wagons oxen-drawn
on wheels of hardship

or could they be

sentinels guarding a landing site
for gray-skinned Venusian visitors
piloting intergalactic
spheroids of phosphorescent silver.

© Susan Parker
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author’s written permission.