The Impossible Flood
Sunny day in the unconscious:
I’m standing on my patio
watching the flood—flash, fat, fast—
write itself a river
running downhill from the road.
(I know, I know. I’m high
on the mountain where streams won’t flow.)
Water looks like a YouTube video;
it looks like a latte accident
or the special effects for a film about
the worst parks of the American west.
Rapids have cut a groove through grass,
sloping past. Water never laps
at the lip of concrete.
You’re there with me, a few feet behind,
both of us lovers
of fascination with disasters.
We don’t turn toward safety indoors.
We watch carnage that fails to reach us.
We stay in place, bearing witness
to the world & its dangerous stories.
*
Ace Boggess is author of eight books of poetry, most recently Tell Us How to Live (Fernwood Press, 2025), and the short-story collection Always One Mistake (Running Wild Press, 2026). His writing has appeared in Indiana Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Hanging Loose, and other journals. An ex-con, he lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he writes, watches Criterion films, and tries to stay out of trouble.
Great poem!