Dust Devil

In the heat
Of the desert sun,
The wind begins
To churn,
Whirling faster
And faster,
Picking up
Grit and grime
From the valley floor
And sandblasting
Anything in its path.
It spins like
A miniature tornado
On a dusty rampage,
Gorging itself
On trash
And tumble weeds,
Lifting them
High overhead
Before unceremoniously
Dumping them
Helter-skelter
Across the land.