2024, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, the no-scape

the answer to that tree falling question

The ants that had long taken up residence in the hollow tree (along with, at one time, flying squirrels) had probably started to relax.

One does after a storm, finding the house still standing… even if it is 8 feet lower and laying sideways.

One does begin to look anew at the surrounding area. More greenery. More dirt. Plans are made for new commuter routes.

Advantages are extolled to the working masses by the ones in charge. This. This shall not break us. We will learn we will grow we will thrive.

One does start to maybe think the ones in charge might be right.

And then comes a chainsaw with a giant attached to it. The giant is wearing protective glasses.

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2024, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, the no-scape, Working Class Literature

and then, a double rainbow

the storm came up on us quickly
all wind and rain under a sepia sky

a storm some ancient creole grandmother might describe as
The devil’s wife done kicked him out da bed,

we got the boat in before the clouds wrung themselves dry.
later,

a woman walked in the rain up the wharf hugging a cello;
there was a bit of timpani thunder

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2023, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, the no-scape

the commute is always the hardest part

waiting out the storms, counting between lightening strikes

the first summer rain purges the city of pollen
while tornados erase sections of southern Indiana

listening to weather reports on the shortwave watching the wind kiss the trees, quick like, and on the way to work

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