The structures are all DIY.
The summers are brutally hot.
The winters are bitter and dry.
A month ago,
When the aspens and big tooth
Were starting to show
Fall colors on the mesa’s green roof,
Pocketville was still baking dust.
Irrigation sprinklers kept it down.
ATVs and ponies stirred it up.
The oddly shaped buildings browned.
It felt like it was waiting for something
Other than fall or winter, something more,
But maybe unincorporated Pocketville
Was made to remain a waiting kind of town,
The kind of place where the actual end,
Whenever it comes, will be neither ironic,
Nor tragic, nor even very weepy, just
Disappointing after waiting that chronic.