Safety

A war is coming
(I can safely tell you that)
A painless, packman war,
Conducted off-world,
In a newly made wasteland where people
will look to the sky and pray for
cleansing munitions.

We will send a contingent,
a footy team of fighters, to operate
in a safety zone,
to lend moral support to
BIG SLUGGER,
to whom our leader presents his head,
for a pat.
So we can be safe from those made angry
by the last war.

A war is coming
As a futurologist
I can safely tell you that.

by Terry Holliday (2004)

The Flood

The river woke up this morning
To teach us a lesson,
About water and its seeking ways.

Novel and delicate in trickle
Yet monstrous in volume,

It swelled up and fast flowed
chaotic and capricious,
into our home, our land, our life.

Cannoned by its menacing,
aquatic power,
we cowered and watched
the surging roiling depths,
Crack open and spit debris.

Engorged, it snaked
through the city,
Busting and carving its banks,
drenching and drowning a
bewildered metropolis.

And then came the ghost boats
Lightly, darkly
Floating down to the sea.

The Road

Pitch Black
Glacial tar

Flows viscous
Through the city

Kneaded by rolling tumbrels
Toward Pinkenba

Still Life

Things fall into place, and hold on,
With magnetic uncertainty

Chair grabbing floor
Basket clutching at the door

Cupboard up against the wall
Restraining cloaks in broken fall

Bed dead weights beneath white sheet
Bookends press with hidden feet

What frantic gravitational pull
Conducts this living still?