an American flag still planted in her face. Someone

running for president for what is left of America

will say that there is no real proof that entire cities

have fallen into the ocean, still full of people too poor

or sentimental to leave. Someone else will lick

their lips with a dry tongue & ask where all

the water went. How we can have so much ocean

drowning us & nothing to drink. Maybe someone will

finally look to the rich. Look to what fills their cups. 

Look to the strip mines & the forgotten islands. Look 

to the bomb shelters & their rusted cans of water, 

& the bombs, stacking higher in silos in Wisconsin; 

watch a tin can in a fireplace, turning to white ash;

how we’d all thought metal could not burn & that

no planet so full of ocean could go so silent & dry

but go for a swim in the salt. You can’t hear a thing.