You have vacated the watchtowers
on the walls of the world.
And out there in the gulf
you renamed “America”
you know there is
a monster storm spinning up
Katrina’s bigger, angrier friend
swollen on carbon-fueled heat,
veins laced with leaking crude. No-one
will see it coming until
it makes landfall, stomping the coastline
into giant flood-filled craters.
Then staggers inland, stumble-drunk
spitting tornadoes like a bar-fight loser spitting teeth.
Crumples prostrate against some piedmont,
pisses out a billion gallons of Gulf condensate
like cheap beer, washing out roads, dams, towns
and in its final spasms clutches the mountainside
crumpling it like a stained sheet, pulls down
mud to drown small cities. And from the fresh
and unmarked graves the ghosts cry Why?
Why were we not warned?
Books Available
Dervish Lions
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside
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