Gush - Noaa Rienecker

Often my spirits rise
as a river in an urban passage
after a thick dark rain, 
swelling and quickening, 
even rushing and chopping,
threatening to swallow 
the flora on either bank, 
or flood the homes 
of small animals.

Soon the threat is no more,
I am overwhelming 
shoreline footpaths, dams,
and other boundaries,
carefully established
and maintained 
by the commonwealth. 

I’ll notice eventually 
that I’ve lapped up 
onto the road
when someone’s tire slips
and the screaming brakes
herald a shattering splintersong,
but by the first note
of that prelude,
It’s already too late. 

As I recede bashfully,
I take used band-aids 
and potato chip bags 
down with me from the street,
revealing ruined gardens
and shorted electronics,
and I see they’re already 
mixing fresh cement
to pile on the levees.