This is the sign of winter. It falls from the sky, this over-sized unwritten crystalline white page. Branches with arthritis hold coconut ice-cream. Racine city has been whited out. The traffic signals are eaten out too, except for one. It shows its shy T. The S, O, and P are drowned. It is too late. I offer a minute of silence, but the neighbor’s mechanical animal doesn’t believe in solemnities. It makes a furious tron-tron sound as it sucks and spits sandy white matter. It tells me, “Shut up! I work on behalf of biped beings. They need to walk.”
You were always watching the signs-
it was a real warning sign.
We missed the meteor shower,
threw out the moonstone ring, it was cursed.
Falling fast as the stars,
even the Pleiades couldn’t save us.
It had never stopped raining.
Amelia walked through the rain to old haunts and to friends’ houses. She walked on the wet concrete, dressed in rain boots and looking up to the sky. It dripped rain into her mouth and eyes and blurred her vision.
It was summer in Hammond, Wisconsin and the sky was like a wash of pale blue. It was only like a six-minute drive to the BP in town, but I inched above the speed limit, sky roof wide open. The warm manure-wind gushing into the car was like a suffocating hug from a trusted uncle. I passed two dairy cows wading through swaying weeds. They had knobby knees and sloping hipbones. I honked my horn and they lifted their heads. I liked doing that. A couple minutes later, I pulled up to the gas station, determined for some glazed Little Debbie Mini Donuts.
Ships don’t set sail
in the basement
of a flooded party.
The bass provides
for the sails and
spilled water streams
from the shower.