Beachfront Property
we laughed one hundred year flood plane now it is said
five hundred year flood plain and flood it did harvey knew his way around
sleep interrupted the ground saturated water way over the path
the old oak down lost power the water kept rising
creeping toward the house soon it seeped under the door into the house
the floor boards buckled the furniture floated settled into a new arrangement
the water crept up the drapes so much could not be saved piled on the curb
our favorite things but things a life does not make we will repair the house
good as new get new things we’ll get a map
find our way harvey was a kick in the pants when a storm has been vicious
his name will be retired we’ll call his name no more he was a cad
and a bounder left devastation in his wake for now we do not have to go far
beachfront property the waves rise and crash outside my front door
September 11, 2017
Note: I used words from The Sunday Whirl and Sunday's Whirligig, but not all of the words.
Today I received an email, that my old home had been flooded, I wrote about Harvey as if I still lived there.
3 comments:
A terrible storm, Annell, and sad to think of your old home flooded. Your poem really sets the scene.
Oh so well expressed
Whew...it must be awful knowing what happened to your old home. Such tragedy. Your poem takes the reader right into the eye of the storm. Things a life does not make...but without things it is difficult to live.
Post a Comment