Christian Ward brings us today a poem called Floods. Enjoy the wonderful imagery and wordplay.
The streets have become flooded
with our childhood dreams.
Puddles blend into
astronauts, paving slabs, firemen.
Artists wash the pavements
in a sea of colour.
Our adult selves, thin as spindles,
watch from behind netted curtains,
holding each other as the houses
slowly move towards an ocean
of someone else’s making, bodiesquivering like fish desperate for water.