New Mexico Mercury

Monday morning sunrise – Hobbs, New Mexico, October 25, 2010
Already the west winds blow, relentless
Rocking the pickup we huddle inside
The dogs and I
“In Hobbs,” granddaughter Lily shrugs her two-year old
Shoulders and remembers the summer green Ruidoso mountains
I am on the edge of town
Down a gravel road that runs by the ruins of a
World War II Quartermaster’s depot
Abandoned now, only concrete borders and cactus around

Even the busy golf course oasis is empty.
Swept by rushing walls of wind, the walking trail, too
Is quiet.  No joggers.  Not many walkers.
Only the stubborn, the willful, the natives
Bend forward thoughtless leaning into or away
Form the dust that beats them and the earth to hard pan.

At the race track, jockeys ride the wind
Horses stumble and tumble
Killing themselves and their riders
On red concrete clay
Ground not fit for horse or human
This Hobbs entire energy- plex not fit for habitation
But there’s jobs and good pay and a big purse if you win.