The Canal

At four o'clock

the water's warm

and honey colored

at the canal.

The snakes bask

on the bleached husks

of the water-swollen tires,

and Queen Anne's Lace

grows profusely

on the hard clay banks.

 

At five o' clock

the broken body

of a small boy

who fell, screaming,

from the water tower

floats by

a crow lands on his belly and

the water looks like rust.

 

Reviews

[Rambling Prose]

Not quite sure of my feelings on this piece, but it stirred and I found it strangely profound.

Nicely penned...

[Leah T]

not overstated and it actually succeeds at disturbing the reader, which in our age of tila tequila and violence in tv and movies is hard (say i.) i really like the form as well as the content - the contrast between the stanzas is, again, not overstated but drives home its point.