An air conditioner view,
staring at the big gauche mansions.
What’s in it for me?
A broken gazebo and a dog surrounded
by a barbed wire fence,
chasing his tail in the untamed grasses.
The scar tissue is here
between the skull and the broken lashes.
A bulldozer fixed in place for years.
I knew those people and their grievances.
The blood money comes pouring in,
as they stare above
choking down their tears.
Just a little north,
is where you’ll find them now.
A little farther from the coast
is where they can get the most for their cash.
Hurricanes can’t touch them now.
And when the dog barks I don’t know how
he’ll be able to survive the flood.
The blood money gets them broken basements,
dead bushes, dead roots,
of organic matter.
From winter to summer
all was spring.
But spring came around,
and the deluge came.
You can’t read the engraving
on the headstone anymore.
You saw it once
but it’s gone forevermore.
But to view it twice
would take a strength that’s been shut down since before
the rain poured down.
And we don’t read the Kaddish anymore.
Seven days of sitting shiva;
thirteen years, a boy’s bar mitzvah;
two whole days spent in the morgue,
and just a minute to process what the storm
will do to my island
and the islands all around.
The island is not a
according to poets we’ll never know.
With my telescope I just might see
how the waves decimated
you and me.
Janni’s favorite hobby is writing. If you want to contact her, do so at firstname.lastname@example.org