Thursday, October 1, 2015
Under/water basket weaving
Three days rain
runs down the street, a raucous group of children,
freshly released from school.
Some leave their names
carved in the earth in letters ---
like Y & X.
The deluge is static on the roof of the car,
a lost signal of the radio station.
of the Emergency Broadcast system cut
through the speakers.
Birds keep watch on the wires above,
periodically doing a shimmy-shake to remove the excess.
It builds up.
A young lady on the sidewalk, in dress, too nice
for a day like today, soaked through & clinging
to her body - walks with purpose, head up,
unwilling to let the rain deter her.
We are going nowhere fast, the wipers can't
keep up. Drunken drains back up.
We sit, move a bit, sit.
The walking woman disappears
behind a curtain of falling
rain& headlights, rain& ---
Someone cuts up the volume.
Nothing looks the same in a storm.
Solid lines blur.
Saying nothing of truth ---
Red & Blue lights bloom bright,
explosions in every drop that bursts in circles
on the windshield.
A plane passes overhead,
above the clouds - unseen.
We move on,
a little at a time.
The flood is still to come.