A free-verse poem about the summer's drought. |
Day follows monotonous day of triple-digit heat, dry heat; no rain falls. The flowers parch and wilt, then shrivel and die. The green grass grows brown and crunches underfoot. Still no rain will fall. The midday sun burns hot, hotter still as the afternoon wears on. Waves of heat rise from the pavement. The birds abandon the feeders in the middle of the yard to hunker down in the shade with wings raised, beaks open. Even mad dogs and Englishmen seek to rest in the shade at midday. Bodies sweat profusely, to proper ladies’ dismay. Still no rain will fall. The ground dries out inches down, then splits open in long fissures. Lakes, ponds, and rivers become shadows of their former selves. Docks sit exposed, high and dry, now yards from lakes’ watery edge. Boats are beached, incapacitated. Fish gasp for oxygen at the surface of shallow, isolated pools of water. Towns restrict water usage, limiting the watering of lawns, the washings of dirty cars, and taking long showers. Still no rain will fall. The oppressive heat is relentless, day after day all the same. Tempers flare as air conditioners drone on but cannot keep up. Electricity usage hits all-time peaks, threatening brown-outs or failure. The whole region suffers as record high temperatures and lack of rain threaten to turn the lush and green environment into drab, brown desert. Church-folks’ prayers for rain remain unanswered as still no rain will fall. Will this drought never end? Please check out my ten books: http://www.amazon.com/Jr.-Harry-E.-Gilleland/e/B004SVLY02/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 |