The Rock

I've never enjoyed reading poetry much, which I would guess is why I don't write it very often. The following piece describes one of my strongest memories from my short time in Jordan, and when I tried to put it down on paper, prose seemed to bog it down. I stopped trying to force it, and this is what I got. Perhaps some of my inspiration has come from reading the blog of a friend's brother-in-law. As I've been reading his work and writing my own, I've been wondering how the editing process for poetry is handled. Do any of you write poetry? If so, do you edit it? What's your process? 

The Rock

Dust surrounds us on this quiet road.

Our bus bumps, bumps, bumps over rocks and mounds on the road.

The desert stretches vast beyond sight on each side of the road.

Clusters of houses appear intermittently on the road.

We’re strangers on this road.

And he notices.

One foot hits the dirt

And another

Shoes left behind

A hand encloses the rock

Sweaty

Pulls back and releases

Arcs

Just in time

Whack!

A hit on side of the mammoth machine

That doesn’t even pause as it continues down the road.