Desert at Night
The bags are abandoned,
swept by the wind.
The dark night is interrupted the blue moon
that casts a shadowy fog,
illuminating the orange of the bag.
The desert is harsh and arid.
The freezing air whips and bites my skin.
The scorpion stands menacingly,
guarding what is his.
I wonder if he feels protective.
If he is helplessly defensive over what is his.
I tread the desert sand,
In desperate search of food and water.
My lips are blue and my tongue is dry.
The bags and can are so close,
close enough to stretch out my arms and grasp.
The scorpion whips its head around, it’s tail snapping behind.
One look tells me that the bags have been claimed.
They are no longer mine.
One wrong step and the scorpion will strike.
He will pinch my flesh until it bleeds
and his venom will course through my veins.
The moonlight highlights his pincers
and he tells me it is time to turn around.