a poem by Roger B. Rueda
they said the walls
were sturdy—concrete poured
from buckets of air,
the engineers signed
with pens that bled
erasers,
the mayor smiled
a ribbon snipped clean
as the rain began.
a canal drawn
in crayons,
the paper soggy with promises,
steel beams
hollow as straws,
bending when looked at,
cement sacks
filled with dust,
not gravel.
the flood came,
clapping like a drunk
in the middle of mass.
