Coyote Mercury

words, birds and whatever else by James Brush

Roadside Artifact

Along a southeast Texas highway, alone in a field, a missile points into a blue sky from behind a screen of trees, their lower trunks blackened in a perfect line by Hurricane Ike’s saltwater surge. The missile’s joints are rusted and whatever markings may once have identified it and warned away godless commies and damned Yankees are long faded leaving behind a tattered egret-white coat of peeling paint. No identifying information lurks at the base unless it’s been swallowed by the grasses of the coastal plain, which in a less droughty spring would now be alive with the ten thousand shades of a wildflower revolution.

a rusted missile
aimed toward the springtime sky
windblown prairie grass


  1. Super linework with pacing & tempo & all. I could hear it in my head. And see it.

  2. I second what Deb said. Great work.

  3. I know this area all too well and had first-hand experience with Hurricane Ike. You have recaptured the aftermath beautifully, James. Are you originally from around S.E.TX?

    Congratulations for having your sight featured on NaPoWriMo!


    • Thanks, Laurie, it’s good to know that came through.

      My wife comes from the Golden Triangle so I’ve gotten pretty familiar with the area over the years.

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