I crawl on hands and knees,
Looking under furniture,
Turning up corners
Of yesterday’s carpet.
Walls rush in
and doors slam shut,
With what I cannot find,
A little peace, one drop of joy,
The recollection of relevance.
Once again the bent back,
Hands guiding a rubber suction hose
Over a flooded basement floor
Six times in one week,
And threats of further storms to come.
Bucket after bucket of muddy water
Hoisted up to the great outdoors,
Where blue skies have turned grey
And green grass is flecked with mud.
Bail, bail both night and day.
Oh,but to abandon “house”,
And let the water have its way.
Poems by Linda Straub
Copyright June 2015