No wise man ever said whether pools rush in, the way
flash-floods would in streets, in a tug-of-war with the van’s wheels.
Nor would you leave your baby on the car floor to taste
the water-tainted carpet, stains marked on it.
I frequently saw a green soldier-toy, only an inch tall.
He kept this fighting stance as if he were at war.
His green rifle though raised up and erect never did ward me off.
But his stiffness increased my desire for him .
It’s not for sale. Wars normally commence after this.
If I had the power of Moses over water, I would hurl the flash flood
against the window, break it up, then pull back and drag
as if with claws his toy soldier, and drop it on my carpet.
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