Give thanks for the weight

of makeshift covers, of inner tubes
that keep the clapboard houses
from scattering in mildest wind—

Give thanks for light, unbilled,
that comes through holes drilled
into iron roofs and plastic bottles
filled with water and bleach—

Give thanks for the width and girth
of flood tunnels underground,
where the homeless can lie down
on castoff furniture and pallets—

Give thanks for the forgotten sentinel
hoisted on a pedestal outside, who opens
her arms of chipped paint and plaster
in mercy above the Blue Angel Motel—

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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