Weekly poem on Trump Presidency



Houston: Flashflood

in depths
of gasoline-stained streets
puddled dumbly on a Metro bus-stop bench lookin at the metal-sky
waitin for it to bust open like a celestial toolbox
pourin gears nuts n bolts down on this great dome of machinery
worryin about the storm in the forecast the sewers overflowin the lightnin attracted to this
I realized this weather ain’t forever
nor the grid of this industrial beast
nor the bat-guano ground beneath the underpass held up by columns one adorned with an
R.I.P. DUDE MAN in black spray-paint
nor the innocence of the newborns in the highrise medical center behind me
nor the wildflower man sunburnt drenched homeless grandfather who renamed himself
Jesus Christ Cash chantin in rags on the corner chasin door to door for a dollar as
bump by bumper to bumper on the feeder or stop at the light at Gessner a couple
thousand eyes lookin away on their way
nor the fuckin traffic millions of motors moanin from district to district to trick
nor ridin the public transport, tryna beat rush-hour and avoid the law
finesse our lives away jus like ol Cash
witness our megalopolis sprawl
make this high last so we finally see
Cash as a saint, his words hymns to the highway
it was the cityglow I realized creatin a halo – a mixture
of sunset flames n fallin water wrappin a rainbow round him imagine
if we saw him as sacred no less bold n blessed than the bluebonnets,                      
imagine we all go where he goes when the city drowns
if we all bathe in the waves washin our crowns


K. Riley is a native of Houston and currently enrolled as a B.F.A. student in Creative Writing at Stephen F. Austin State University, where she is working on her first collection of poems. This is her first published poem from that collection.




llustration:  anna_croc01

llustration: anna_croc01