The Dowser’s Ear

Empty cattle trailers Rumbled dummy thunder Down the road all day, and now tonight, Heat lightning flashes more of the same fake rain. It’s just as well. I couldn’t get to sleep, And now it ricochets across the sky With empty loads of light. We’ve had a month Of drought that tightens dirt around my pond. The local wells are dry. But I’ve retired, Threw out my wand. I hate this time of year. Roux can burn if flour Sticks in skillet butter. I’ve been cooking up a storm myself, My Daddy’s filé gumbo recipe. He used to be a chef on oil rigs Until the hurricane. I heard the waves That killed him, and I hear them every year. It’s emptiness that fills me. That’s my skill. I hear the vacant rain before it falls. It’s like the murmur of a spiraled shell. Hurricane weather, stewing Deep for landfall, spewing Rain-a-plenty in the Gulf and here In Tennessee they always have a lack Of something. Two men called today for wells. I told them both to go to hell, and now They think I’m sinful, not to use my skill. They stand to lose so much, but don’t we all. I lost a lot in Hurricane Camille And even now can’t hear the end of it. More heat lightning flashes, Absent rain that passes Over clouds, and I can make it out, Each gurgling current under withered fields, Down kitchen drains. The neighbors think I’m crazy, Up all hours, but they’ll never know The screaming voice inside a breaker’s rage Or how it simmers in my ear. I hate The sound of water. Give me one good chance To make it silent. I’d be right as rain.