Lines etched across the map
meandering highways of life
Oxbows, waterfalls, brooks, fords, streams
Full to capacity already
A new storm rages
as if a name could make it any less
terrifying
Scurry and hurry for sandbags
protect at all costs
barely dried out since the last time
History tells us how long we’ve got
clock watching, counting the hours
sure in the knowledge
This is not fresh spring water
This has travelled
through drains
fields
along roads
the sewers
It is not welcome here
The aftermath
Walls like tea stained mugs
No special sponge to bring back the sparkle
Assess the losses
Prepare for the next one
Lines on the the map recede
Innocent highways once more
© wordsfromanotebook / suzie pearson