By the banks of a flood
we sat and wept — by the
Babylon, by the shores of the mighty
Mississippi. From the rooftops
of a drowned city. Near the edge
of a rising tide.
We sat and wept
and then cried out:
we were promised
dry land; where is it now? We were
promised safety, where is it now?
We were promised lives
and now are being told this is not feasible,
we only ever asked for lives
and now are being told these are not
practical, were promised
that promises made were to be kept
and now we find that all the air
was fouled from the moment it left
their mouths and then,
then to see you
sitting by these same banks
with your own feet swamped in the filth
of the flood, see you
with the drowning so close to you as well, see
you with your eyes
raised over our heads
to something we can’t see,
see you and hear you
asking us why we broke the dams
and let this happen when all we did
was point at the dams and say
look at the seams, the leaks, the cracks,
look, look, can’t you see we are drowning?
Can’t you see that
you are soon to be drowning as well?
You ask us why we cry out
with our arms raised and flailing.
We stare back at you, we ask:
how can you not?