Gutter Duty

I am not gifted with the foresight
To determine in some great act of jurisprudence
Whether that section of earth is yours, mine, ours.
It’s a shame Epimetheus was unable to see
The tow of us, in bright yellow raincoats,
Run gray in torrential rain,
Raising our voices above thunder
Over who would clear the gutter.

In the waters that ran black with murky darkness
I thought I saw a flash of silver
A charm from my childhood.
But you, you saw the concrete box
That framed the urban river
And commented on how it reeks
With a delicate sort of hauteur.

In the type of gust that forces a hand on your head
To keep your hat from lifting off
We’re muttering our hate of Spring
And feverishly scratching at clumps
Of natural pollution, those baby green leaves,
To liberate the rain rivers.

The two of us are urban tadpoles, I think
We’re swimming in a pool of Oceanids, as if
Oceanus and Tethys really did
Fill the world with their love.
It makes me a cynic to push the blasted leaves aside
And watch the water flee.
it makes me wish I was hydraulic.

---

Jenny Fan, age 16
Bellaire, Texas
Submitted Independently