deepundergroundpoetry.com

Dry Spell

There's no river on Colorado
The Boulevard steaming beneath the summer sun
The flow of traffic now a crawl
Then full stagnation at Lake Avenue
The side streets are merely sluggish
Vehicles sinking despite the GPS
All the serenity of wild boars in tar pits
They refer to this as a "drought"
And refrain from the word "disaster"
But this morning it just feels like limbo
With rainfall briefly extinguishing the flames of Hell
Heat, for once, descending
As angels rise to ride the rapids
One just offers the shade of her wings
Proud of the graceful designs
The words inked in their feathers
"This parched earth too shall pass."
Written by crowfly
Published
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