poetry by j matthew waters

The Rainmaker

Rumors of his arrival circulated for days
before riding into town on horseback.
He slowed the Mustang to a halting walk
as both man and beast lifted their nostrils
and breathed in the dust and dead air.

The Zuni Indian, dressed in dark loincloth
and white headband, dismounted
the horse and entered City Hall.

Word quickly spread from town to country
of the prearranged meeting finally taking place.
In short order Main Street swelled with people
as if a holiday parade was soon to start.

When the Mayor and the Rainmaker
swung open the doors
cheers and gunshots could be heard
from as far away as the nearest clouds.

november, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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