Like old-time washerwomen
floodwater is sousing trees and shrubs
out on the drainage. Floating wrack
dribbles seaward from their labour.

Last time rains poured day and night
in this way, the country was refilling
after years of drought.
This deluge spreads mirror over roads.

Human effort gets its pages turned
and blanked under microgroove and parchment
is how media display our towns.
Tornado, tsunami are words we hear

at home, that were exotic in teapot times.
Downpour and inferno are states
that people drive between, discarding
their senators and whitegoods.

Global warming’s chiller wintertimes
rule both hemispheres. Arizona snow golf,
Siberian wheat, English vineyards
stricken by blizzard in their chardonnay.

Sports folk touching pharmacy face ruin:
arts folk taking drugs may boast of it.
Slapped mud makes Saharan cities cool
but this week HIV spared an infant.

Families are steered by suicide bomb and cargo
cult to set sail. But HIV quit an infant.

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