Global Drowning Dream

I heard three raps on the back door window.

I did not get up from my warm bed.

As I sat on the giant red and yellow plastic dumbbells in Burroughs Park Playground,

the water in the drainage channel  beside me began rising higher

from a early, warm spring behind a late, heavy snowfall.

Clambering to the top of the KU boathouse,

with its tan, textured, concrete walls,

well-designed to withstand flood,

the Kaw washed over the racing shells below.

I cheered as one slipped its moorings and skittered away.

Water still rising.

Quickly, now safely atop the grain elevators in North Lawrence,

having ingeniously borrowed the construction crane from the Bowersock hydro project

to hoist my bed high and dry,

the raging farm land and backstroking cows rushing below,

water rising only part way up the cement cylinders.

Noah’s rainbow promises

that the world will never again flood,

entirely,

climate change notwithstanding.

I hear three clacks on the cat knocker at my front door.

I yawn and turn over.

Row, row, row your boat rules.

Merrily, merrily …