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By John I. Blair

Rarely do I feel
More like a flawed god
Than when I'm watering the yard
In this torrid Texas summer.

Dozens of the plants
I choose to try
Would die in days
Under the sun's rays
If I did not take the time
To turn a faucet handle
And bring them all salvation.

Tlaloc, the Aztec deity of rain,
Was a vengeful
And bloodthirsty god,
One who needed children
Drowned in bottomless cenotes
To please him.

I am not Tlaloc;
I demand no sacrifices,
Least of all these plants,
These innocents,
My children.

But yesterday
When I stepped outside
And found a sage had fried
From inattention,
I had a hint
Of what it meant
To be the rain god.

2003 John I. Blair  

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Reader Comments

Name: Brooks Taylor Email:
Comment: Another very good nature poem, but this one has that special twist at the end (irony?) and the added benefit of some history most of us didn't know about.



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