Tag Archives: Stout poem

Robert Stout

Robert Joe StoutRobert Joe Stout is a freelance journalist who lives in a small town in Oaxaca, México, amid bougainvillea and huge sunflowers. At night deer come to drink at the spring above the town. His most recent book is the novel Running Out the Hurt from Black Rose Writing.



Cactus in the Rocked-Off Grove
in Front of the Tourist Motel 

spined the gravel driveway
with shadows shaped like men
marching off to work. My son
dropped the leash to let our
dog race plastic bags blown
across boulders strewn every
which way against fossiled hills.
For a moment he stood
facing the horizon, fingers
of one small hand picking
at the brim of his baseball cap.
The dog, trotting back, stopped
and together they turned,
eyes drawn upwards
by the scratchy white
of rag-tag clouds revealing
some momentary message,
some indecipherable command
passed through the moonscape
growth to bind living things
to stones hunched
beneath that vacant dome
of fading blue. A wild bird
screeched, the dog spun back
to run again as my son wiped
his eyes and waved in wonderment:
Did you see it Dad?
It was beautiful.