Monday, March 10, 2008

Flood rising

The waters kept rising.
Wasn’t too surprising,
Someone built an ark which was very enterprising.
Ma and pa were baling,
Little Jem was wailing,
Hopper found a door and decided to go sailing.
Jeepers creepers!
The water’s getting deeper.
Climb onto the roof, ma, the floodbanks are failing.

Cars were being swept away,
Sightseers kept away,
Old Mr. Venous in his bedroom slept away.
The wind came squawlin’,
Little Jem was bawlin’,
Hopper sailed by with a sheet of old tarpaulin.
Climb the spire,
The level’s getting higher.
Better watch out, ma, the rain keeps a-fallin’.

Helicopters buzzin’
Ten to the dozen,
Old Mrs. Shiels was rescued by her cousin.
Kitchens were brimmin’,
Street lights a-dimmin’,
Hopper floated by with a door-load of women.
Shake and shiver,
Main Street’s a river.
Hold onto your hat, ma, I think we’re going swimmin’.

Frogs were a-croaking,
Little Jem was soaking,
Old Mr. Venous thought that we were joking.
Night owls hooted,
Main Street was muted,
Down at the plaza, the shops were being looted.
Head for the high lands,
Rooftops are islands,
Stories of drownings were urgently refuted.

The tempest was raging,
Ma was quickly aging,
Storm wasn’t tired of the war that it was waging.
Pa looked staggered,
Hopper seemed haggard,
Cops shot a looter, said he was a blackguard.
Adrenalin pumping,
Fishes were jumping,
Mayor in his dinghy strutted and swaggered.

Poor Farmer Baker
Who owned the hundred acre,
Looked out the window and prayed to his maker.
Pa was scowling,
Little Jem was howling,
Hopper never tired of the women he was towelling.
There went McCreevy
With a stolen TV,
Chief of Police said he favoured disembowelling.

Water kept flowing
To wherever it was going.
Little Jem laughed at the bubbles he was blowing.
Pa seemed affected,
Shopping mall’s protected,
Mayor was only thinking of getting re-elected.
Folk couldn’t win,
Hopper’s done in,
Grab a rubber ring, ma, high tide’s expected.

The torrent was flying,
Pa started crying,
Said it would be months till the house started drying.
Ma was worn out,
Front gate torn out,
Hopper’s bold prediction really had been borne out.
All the Bible thumpers
Were queuing up to jump us,
Poor Farmer Baker couldn’t get his corn out.

The Mayor was bloodied,
The waters got muddied,
The bar was closed because the cellar had been flooded.
The army dropped butter
Onto our gutter,
Old Mr. Venous battened down the shutter.
Watch out, bud,
It’s one hell of a flood.
“Best night of my life,” I heard Hopper mutter.

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