BY THE DIGHTY, AFTER FLOODS
by Beth McDonough
Waist high, debris wattles trunks,
carrier bags remember flood height.
Finger twigs droop, catch drip
half-drown cloot ghosts
as slipbanks pock with a rush-up
slewed by fled rats.
Beside the spate of this town’s
bourne, whatever passed
still pulses. I choose
to suppose myself safe.
Gyroscope Review - page 5!