Flood (Poetry)

The waters broke last night — the banks gave way
and a great surge, egged on by pounding rain,
washed through undefended fields.

The bridge is under siege and almost lost,
the current drives so fierce and strong
old wood seems frail, unlikely to resist for long,
groaning under blows and close to death.

The flood has won fresh ground — subjugated all,
beaten walls and fences down, drowned the road,
turned unready land to makeshift lakes.

The farm marooned, its clutch of outhouse roofs
islanded together, looks abject in its plight —
an unwelcome tide lapping round its door.

Small casualties float past — non-swimmers caught
off-guard, unfit to fight, not quick enough
to get away, out-run
that which swallows everthing in sight.