INDEMNITY
Mudslides aren’t covered.
Nor jewelry over fifteen-hundred dollars
unless you have a rider.
A live tree taken down by a storm
and falling through your master bedroom?
Covered. But a dead one?
Not. You’ll have to give the assessor
access in order to make a full
determination. Mice chewing up
old wiring underneath the floorboards
and ushering in a pity party
of epic proportions? Tots!
Walls of flame on the next ridge over?
Nope. Tell me. Is an angry voter
flicking a cigarette butt
out of a Range Rover just an idiot
or are they a bona fide
act of God—adept at doing the Lord’s
mysterious work? I haven’t
cracked open John’s overblown account
on the island of Patmos
for quite some time, but I miss
that mildewed smell seeping through
our family Bible. It gets me
thinking about all the things I can’t
control. Flood insurance
more retro than Noah going off
the grid. Grandpa’s vintage
porno stash but a conflagration on VHS
no one can bear to watch.
—from Poets Respond
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Timothy Liu: “Looks like the wildfires on the West Coast and Southwest have now made it to the East Coast where we’re in the middle of a flash drought.” (web)
