The seventh night of rain we heard the crack
of concrete echo up the basement stair.
We found the crumbling wound behind the stack
of crates old Mr. Johnson had left there.
Next morning, water stood a half-inch deep,
all smelly, streaked with grease, unhealthy brown.
All day the ichor continued to seep;
the rain showed no intent of slowing down.
And when that stinking fluid drowned our shoes
we rented out a pump from Loughlin's place
and set it churning, nothing much to lose.
The rain strove hard, but couldn't keep the pace.
We found two skulls, and more human remains--
and still ain't seen the end of them damn rains.
4 comments:
TCABG.
PLEASE GOD LET THE DAMN RAIN STOP.
I agree. God. So, I just finished reading all 200-odd sonnets, in the two days after I randomly tripped over your blog and stopped to take a look at what reached out and grabbed me. This is a really cool project - pretty inspiring, actually. So many of these could be turned into really great songs, too.
Wow, c--you read all of them in two days? What are you, a masochist? :)
Thanks for reading and commenting--and thanks especially for the complements. Songs, huh? Well, I do strum a little... Anyway, if you feel up to it, please let me know which ones are your favorites. After all, one of these days I might actually want to do something with huge stack of papers, and the input would be valuable.
But first, take a break! :)
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