STUART WATSON

DESERT

Did sand conceive sandstone?
Or did sandstone spawn
a gazillion macro microscopic
grains undifferentiated
least to east
by gender traits?
Ah, but look closer.
Grit afflicted with a passion
for sunlight. Lying
amid a legion of lookalikes
except for the breasts.
A desert full
of sandy breasts
scattered and twinkling
around the pools
pumped from underneath
in the way Hollywood
celebrities did drink
and shine, then evaporate
to a mummified state,
more air than water,
more the scent of Coppertone
lotion heated
to a searing temp
before rubbing in.
Lie back inside a cacti curl.
A desert is just a beach
without an ocean.

Celebrated for newspaper work in Anchorage, Seattle and Portland, Stuart Watson has placed literary work in Bull, Yolk, Barzakh, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Bending Genres (Best Microfictions nominee), The Writing Disorder, Reckon Review, Sensitive Skin, The Muleskinner Journal and other publications, all linked from chiselchips.com. He lives in Oregon with his wife and a dog of mixed parentage.