rainfall
our House is on fire!
the young girl snarled
in the wettest February
since records began.
in the mud bath
the deep crowd
magically chanted –
imbuing
the green grass
to grow yet
our ancestors
best achievement
was converting
vast wildwood
into farmland.
bronze age steel
chopped the forests
cultivating
fields & pasture
before the Romans.
i heard at night
the pine trees burned
like beacons across
the countryside.
this house can not
catch fire. rather
endless looming
disasters pending.
rainfall.
God acting or
government inaction?
a question raised
by Mr Lorryman,
just down the road
in Snaith. he’ll soon
demolish his bungalow
totally submerged
by sewage water.
he’s wading through
donated clothes
at the church
as the camera zoomed
on a teenage boy,
his quivering lips
informing those
who would listen
how his mother
broke down when she
forced back the door
& was almost
knocked out by
nature’s stench.
the interviewer
fell silent then
then
a flood of tears.