JOHN GREY __________________________________ Life on the Flood Plain The river is overflowing, and the wake along each bank shakes feverishly, is whipped away by strafing rain. Pale faces watch from shore, a step or two from the cresting waters, backs to an avenue of vulnerable homes. Eyes dull but hearts fast-beating, each can only think of their house’s contents, furniture, mirrors, carpets, beds, unmoored and ill-equipped for floating. Under dripping hoods, the people draw closer, a small town gathered, talking out their fears, their frustrations, like they’re all one family group. Each is eager to start moving stuff, from first floor up to second, from basement to who knows where. But there’s no place really safe from damage. Experience of past floods couldn’t be clearer.
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