The Morning After

The floodwaters shimmer with opalescence in the morning sun The torrential rain finally comes to a halt In the stillness of it all floats the body of the banker’s son Six feet above-ground, his grave on the asphalt Birds stir cautiously above in the stripped-down trees Their intertwining voices weaving a fragile song A tattered American flag wavers in the cool breeze Some buildings in ruins while others hold strong As the waters retreat, remnants of a past life emerge Scattered belongings and overturned furniture drift While some may view the flood as a natural scourge Others may see it as a revitalizing gift The deep blue, empty sky holds a surreal clarity As if having been cleansed by the storm before Devastation occurs for the sake of posterity New life emerges from the grasp of the great war Wetlands breathe and fertile soil is restored Fish of many shades explore the new habitat Nature replenishes itself, humanity ignored But it’s always possible to rebuild the laundromat Shadows stretch long over the worn-down earth Leaving a story of withering sadness behind The grief and pain of the people entwined in rebirth A message in the ruins, both cruel and kind There is strange beauty in the morning after When everything comes to a head In the silence of the town hear Mother Nature’s laughter O’er the skies and the trees and the flooded riverbed