Dry Poem Louise Sorensen Nov.9, 2010
Dry, so very dry.
My little pool is gone this morning.
Sucked empty. Vanished. Extinct.
The stream that feeds it
dull, empty, perished.
My canteen, Sahara.
Not a camel, content with just a sip,
I am an otter, splashing, diving, surfing
on the world wide seas.
Five hours now.
Flights of vultures circle in my brain,
They whirl and dance on boiling thermals,
mocking me, earthbound.
I check the pool, the stream, again, again.
And sniff the air for trickle, droplet, drip.
Calls for help unanswered, scoffed, disdained.
All plans for fun this morning put on hold, and only hope remains.
All the oceans in the world cannot slake my thirst.
My DNS is down.