I like to think the sun gets stronger
But violent storms cause floods and worse
More crises for the public purse.
Weird weather patterns dog our days
An occluded front our nerve ends frays
The early mists are dissipated
Bright sun – and then we're inundated.
Puddles form, drains overflow;
All sewer workers dash below
As débris sweeps down city streets
To congregate in dark retreats.
Dust, muck and bricks or plastic waste
Vanish, cleared without a trace
Processed through the tumbling flow
High-pressure hoses watch it go.
With pumps full on, storm basins fill
Detritus caught in metal grill
Spillways unclogged straightaway;
These brave men so deserve their pay!
(c) Poet in the woods 2018
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