Active God

The weather network said
they had never called for so much rain
(then cut to commercials).

In Canmore, they said the creek
came to the houses like a burglar.

Rocky Mountain Tourism officials declared
the landscape would never be the same
(it never was).

On the Siksika nation, the water
was said to spread like fire.

RCMP in High River had a slogan
they collected guns from abandoned houses only
for safer keeping.

In Halifax they toasted
It’s about time Alberta got theirs.

In Roxboro, a man stood before
his ruined mansion and asked, do you
like what we’ve done with the place?

The river is off limits, insisted Mayor Nenshi
invoking Darwin’s Law in muddy, purple sneakers.

Steven Harper took a helicopter ride
and remarked how little it all resembled television.
Then took credit for the sun.

More modestly, Premier Redford
complained of Mosquitoes.

The CBC declared The Worst Natural Disaster in Canadian History
without specifying their metric
(which was dollars)

In downtown Calgary
a bright stampede of bulldozers came
swift as a second flood

but too slow for Tom Williams’ shop –
a quarter-million books washed in a bit of rain
swallowed in a whale of mud. Looks like somebody
tried to put out the fires of hell, said Tom, afterward
retired by surprise.

Here, the poet admits one eye
longed to see the whole world
float away.

~ David Eso

David Eso writes your instructional manuals by day and his poems by night. His work unites Canadian literary heritage with its impending renaissance. He is the curator of two collections of letters, author of five “Kids Books for Adults” and wanted on 13 463 counts of jaywalking – at home and abroad. Eso is a graduate student of epistolary theory at the University of Calgary. No refunds.

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