To breath forth the emotion of countless raindays,
the heavy depressed air, the pinched nerve,
the humid fugue through which we walk,
is the theme of my song.
Oh, waters, be fresh upon the lips & tongue,
may the notes of my song
echo your weight upon the ground.
Refresh this soul
and reawaken the ancient dreams.
First lightening strobes the leaves
into a hollow ghostly green,
then it pulls the sky asunder
(like a bright silver zipper);
and then the thunder shakes loose
the waters which splash,
splatter through the window
onto my sleeping face.
Come morning, the blackbirds
beak down worms
which have risen to the occasion.
When the flood comes, we will seal up the streets;
set watches on the Houses of Defeat;
tie down our mobile homes; wear our black shirts;
and wait for the twister to touch on earth.
Men will be starlings, ladies ashen sheets.
Music of the Spheres will play in the leaves
and they'll bow down with genuflecting trees.
The twister will sing of its new birth
When the flood comes.
Oh, touch down you waters, you new River Lethe
touch down & rekindle the air we breath;
there will be no weeping, there'll be no mirth.
Oh, sing your anthem & sing you your dirge,
you waters that touch down to our island Earth
When the flood comes.
This is no movie, but the streets seem as
though they were bit players in a fifties B-
flick about life after the atomic blast.
There's one lone old man walking through the scene,
one hand flailing the air, the other
holding up his pants. He's not bothered
by glinting sun or his unshaven face.
Clouds track from north to south, passing over
him as he walks east on Boyd; the clouds take
on multifaceted hues from white to
rain-heavy black.
This is a warning: when
the twister comes, hide under your bed
or dive into a deep gully. Windows
should be opened, then quickly avoided.
Listen, if you can, for the storm's roar
and beware the twister's eye.
In the Land
of the Walking Wounded, there is a place
called the Tavern where we survivors
and the ambulatory come to stay
warm from the chilled torrential showers.
Here's our friend who can't afford a belt
treating himself to a full healthy meal.
In the booth nearest the south door sit two
girls, one with a sprained ankle, the other
with a broken leg. Both have crutches.
So
do I, smoking my fifth cigarette &
drinking my fourth glass of iced tea.
At ten o'clock, the storm hits furious,
without warning, first from the south, then
- minutes later - from the north, & just
as the rain hits hard as tiny pellets
it twists up from the street, like a water jet.
We've been expecting this; it's drawing near:
here it comes. Here comes the twister.
O, touch down you waters
swirl in small funnels;
touch down.
O, touch down from sky to earth,
let the streets be rivers
let the lawns be marshes
let the people be fish
or amphibians.
Flood the wheat crop
flood the mad house apartments
flood the little town off the map,
wash it away.
Yes, touch down you waters
touch down on the rich man
touch down on the thief
touch down on the beggar man
and those on relief.
Call forth the demon of fire,
crack him like a slender whip
across the tops of heavy clouds;
quake the houses with his laughter.
Oh, touch down. Then
swirl up from the man-made lake
swirl up from the muddy river
swirl up from under the interstate
destroy the Norman Bank of Commerce
decimate the Riverside Apartments
and raze Owens Stadium.
Oh, touch down
drown the night sounds
drown our dreams
drown our dreams
You waters.
