six feet of muddy water in the basement,
a river flows through it, the pink T-shirt on the clothesline
now brown speckled, like a robin's egg at Easter,
we wake to high winds shaking the bricks, mortar
spewing from houses, fences blown to the ground,
we wait for the locusts now to fly in from Eastern
plains, ready to feast on what's left of green, fading
asters, to push aside the hummingbird at the
trumpet vine, to sing us into a dazed dreaminess
of incomprehension.
welcome to climate change.
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