Thunder breaks the stillness,
lightning blinds the eyes.
The rain goes on forever.
Water fills the ditch, deeper than a little girl.
Liquid mud slams sticks and branches
against concrete sides
hauling them in splinters under the street.
Plastic bags drown with sopping leaves,
empty cups bobble in protest
as water bites away their false Styrofoam strength.
Little hands blanch on the rail.
Little eyes gawp in stupor.
Solid sullen bubbles slop over the sidewalk
lapping at her toes
trying to dissolve another prey.
hiding in the grass
oval and smooth
could be a stone
bumpy and slick
tastes like crayons
tap it on a rock
it crunches like potato chips
tiny cracks sneak in
crush it more
peel the bumpy slicky swirls away
there’s white underneath
yellow round middle
it’s an egg
pinky-purple swirls trashed in the grass
the stone was prettier
wish I could put it back together
© 2008 Libby Block
both poems originally published “Duck Soup: Vol. XXII”. North Lake College: Irving, TX. Fall 2008