Elegy

When the rains crash down and the wind whistles in
and the little house shakes and the doors blow open
and the Mississippi rises and Pontchartrain rocks
against the levee and it’s only August and love is
staying alive not because of you but due to your woman,
hurricane season not always as apocalyptic as lately
and her body is warm bread for your body’s hunger
and the street goes on filling with everything human
beings are and need or don’t need and are not, ever,
and what I am saying I don’t need to say, not anymore.

(12 August 2011)

copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander