chaos has been stealthily creeping up.
a hundred year flood, a hundred year drought,
a calamitous dust storm. she won’t go
anywhere but worse.

skies blacken and scud over,
collapsing exactly like rebuilt
menaced cities.

commie reds, nazi browns, hippie greens
turning chanel bottles into molotov cocktails,
women drawing lines up the backs of their legs
so as to mimic nylons, dressing for the fight
because they have to.

nobody dares to try to hide from
a ruined sky inside a building
while it’s collapsing. they want to survive
the betrayal in the low-lying southern marshes,
slogging in the swamp.