Flint drowns in the dead
neurons of its children
and I ask the grey sky
how the waters of Katrina-
that beautiful ocean
of wild shrimp and sun
could turn to floods
that destroyed so much
made so many homeless
who still wonder and wander-
how those deadly waters
knew where to look to find
the next dark-skinned crowd
the politicians ignore
to destroy.


About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
This entry was posted in Free verse, Poetry, Politics. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Flint

  1. Sabiscuit says:

    I like the sharpness of the formatting. It really adds to the strong feeling of restraint that runs through the poem. Great message for a humanitarian appeal. xo

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