Isaac, II

The city’s full of flooding, and of rain,
And memories of rougher times before,
When water flooded city blocks, or bore
A muddied path, and left behind a plain,
Through buildings, homes, and gardens.  Not again.
Misfortune falls on rich and poor alike,
Unless the water pushes through the dike,
When all the many children, women, men,
And tourists flee the waves.  I’d say a prayer,
And hope that God would step into the sea,
And quiet down the wind, before the plea
Of Pete and clarinet are buried there,
Within the big and easy.  Never fear.
It cannot make the music disappear.