The Sewage Comes From Within
Carving new creeks, nonchalant waters
wash out stern roads and trunk-fist
old bridges, the ditches robust with
bullhead, bluegill, perch and corn slag.
It ain't stopped raining for days.
Low towns sandbag but the sewage
comes from within. The mitigators
are scrubbing their palms for a fresh
carpet of greenbacks and backhanded
charlatans are rolling in from Kentucky.
Herring gulls perch on center pivot
rain machines, build nests in the shade
of Legion Halls, and Pelicans glide, dip,
surface and shake throat pouch splatter
on four bottom drag plow moldboards.
It ain't stopped raining for days, and deep-
pocket insurance hawks go rabbit-eared
as their losses spill out, burnt gristle
plaid wearing farm boys sleep in,
new creeks push indifferent to the sea.