alligator on the road
trying to get back home
after the sea swept him away
head crushed by a truck
fourteen feet of dead reptile
keeping the deer and hog company
on I-510, the road to the Third World, USA
at the checkpoint
we saw a crucifix
sucked from it's holy home
by the backwash of a storm surge
too powerful to argue with
it's the way of God to put
sacred objects into perspective
below the crucifix
a sign tells us in
Official Orange Spray Paint
to keep the faith
and we knew then
there was no going home
mud-filled streets
crushed houses
with Official Orange Paint
indicating how many people dead
how many animals found
and when the house was searched
military presence
the only life around
not a bird in the sky
not a dog on the street
not a fly, a mosquito, a roach
a nuclear landscape
absent the fallout
A Third World Country
within our borders
designed by our nurturing mother
Nature
and our national step-father
Negligence
and we knew
there was no going home
the stench and black mold
took our breath away
we backed off
donned masks and gloves
went back in
found only remnants
of our former life
untouched, undefiled
by the holocaust of inadequacy
a vase my brother gave me
years before he died
a box of old photographs
I had sealed in plastic
and a few dishes
above the water line
in a closed cabinet
the only place the rats
couldn't get
the only things they did not
urinate or deficate on
outside for air
we see our fifty foot Magnolia
defoliated, naked, but for the
name carved on her by my love
my name told the world
this was once home
to two kindred souls
beside the tree, the bamboo
I cried at the sight of that
stand of bamboo, tall
and proud, though thinner
having lost weight on
the Katrina diet, as we had
she danced defiantly in the
autumn breeze
and screamed life
in the face of death
we had only a few hours
before curfew forced us out
we sat on the porch
that we loved so much
and remembered
and cried
and knew
there was
no going home
for any of us
copyright 2006 rhonda lee richoux
trying to get back home
after the sea swept him away
head crushed by a truck
fourteen feet of dead reptile
keeping the deer and hog company
on I-510, the road to the Third World, USA
at the checkpoint
we saw a crucifix
sucked from it's holy home
by the backwash of a storm surge
too powerful to argue with
it's the way of God to put
sacred objects into perspective
below the crucifix
a sign tells us in
Official Orange Spray Paint
to keep the faith
and we knew then
there was no going home
mud-filled streets
crushed houses
with Official Orange Paint
indicating how many people dead
how many animals found
and when the house was searched
military presence
the only life around
not a bird in the sky
not a dog on the street
not a fly, a mosquito, a roach
a nuclear landscape
absent the fallout
A Third World Country
within our borders
designed by our nurturing mother
Nature
and our national step-father
Negligence
and we knew
there was no going home
the stench and black mold
took our breath away
we backed off
donned masks and gloves
went back in
found only remnants
of our former life
untouched, undefiled
by the holocaust of inadequacy
a vase my brother gave me
years before he died
a box of old photographs
I had sealed in plastic
and a few dishes
above the water line
in a closed cabinet
the only place the rats
couldn't get
the only things they did not
urinate or deficate on
outside for air
we see our fifty foot Magnolia
defoliated, naked, but for the
name carved on her by my love
my name told the world
this was once home
to two kindred souls
beside the tree, the bamboo
I cried at the sight of that
stand of bamboo, tall
and proud, though thinner
having lost weight on
the Katrina diet, as we had
she danced defiantly in the
autumn breeze
and screamed life
in the face of death
we had only a few hours
before curfew forced us out
we sat on the porch
that we loved so much
and remembered
and cried
and knew
there was
no going home
for any of us
copyright 2006 rhonda lee richoux