By Thomas Page
Rivers flow into the bays into the oceans into the sky.
I think about this as I watch the light on Riggs turn red for the umpteenth time
And my chances of being at work on time dwindle
Like the rain into a rainbow.
I’ve learned to accept this fact.
Some of the lessons I have learned is that any street named after a state is guaranteed to be gridlocked.
All terrors verdant to the idler stuck with the snow swirling around them.
L’Efant in our nation’s infancy
Designed a system of rivers to flow the dreams of Columbia
Along the diamon’d swamps called Potomac
To protect the capitol
The British came to bring the White House
Some two centuries ago
And found it easily
To burn it down with English energy
And spite for its former ward.
Now that road is a major branch of the river
Which I have often looked at
While idling in traffic
With the legions of tourists hoping to see America condensed around a pond
Beleaguered by the branches of a river flowing into the ocean into the sky.