Flood Watch

by

Steve Williams

The Willamette is mud puddle brown,
logs spiral a slow Bolero under steel
bridges, their branches swim and stroke;
crooked fingers on black sax.

The evening news gives updates
on how many feet over the banks.

I steal some caution tape from an orange
cone to take home and frame.
We’ll hang it over the bed.

My daughter finds a penny, tosses it
over the rail into the flood
of ragtime, never asks where
stray wood that dunks and dips will go,

never asks how trees become logs
the way people become homeless,

never asks about the blankets,
cardboard, or castaways
under the bridge.

 

 

 

Steve Williams writes: “I live and work in Portland, OR, with a lovely woman who writes and edits much better than I but refuses to admit it. We are both co-administrators of the online poetry forum and workshops at wildpoetryforum.com. My publishing credits include Stirring, Amaze, Rattlesnake Review, Brevities, Crescent Moon Journal, and Loch Raven Review.  Also, my first chapbook has been accepted for publication in the Spring of 2007.”

 

 

 

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