Water-logged hydrangea’s blossomed
heads loll heavily under overhangs.
Grass patches--odd green color never seen
before--grow knee-high in the yard.
 
Leaves are tiny water slides, millions
pointed down. Saturated squirrels sit still
amid the constant sizzle-sounds of drench.
Chirrup, chirrup call ruffled, rain-soaked birds.
 
Creeks overflowing banks, washed-out roads,
travelers' warnings scroll across the screen.
Ruined backyard plans have gone inside
‘til blue has pushed through all the dismal gray.
 
Then, in this world of wet, an august calm.
Distant thunder rumblings don’t bring a storm.
Too late. The piled cut-clover suffocates the grass
and watermelons taste too much like water.

© by Patricia Killian Deaton.
Used with the author’s permission.