Glenn G. Coats
There are no dogs barking, no push mowers moving back and forth, no whines from chainsaws dead wooding the pines, no cars pulling in or taking off, no laughter from swing sets and slides. Nothing. The town is quiet.
Frogs hop along roads that shine with moisture as ducks swim in drainage pools. Nuthatches tap holes in soft soffit. There are bluebirds perched on road signs and snakes green as grass slither across sand.
The tropical depression continues to linger off shore. A radio announcer proclaims the number of dead and missing, though with more rain in the forecast, those figures are not yet carved in stone.
faces in the mist
all the private parts
all night rain
a prayer to remember