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.