100-Word Fiction: ‘The Red Dust’

The red dust came from desert skies
sanded the paper and screens of the press

caught in the eyes of conspiracy freaks
piled up the stress of Western dreams

grazed the feet of measured prose
stormed the sounds of drum and song

covered the rows of memorial crosses
and all their long-remembered losses

tickled the wings of the watching hawks
scratched the surveillance camera’s lens

scuffed the talk of the innocent doves
rendered pretend what might have prevailed

as it landed deep on these shores, here –
striking home to avenge what we began before
striving vainly to settle foreign scores