The noisy booms from the sky, streaks of color lighting the clouds,
Yes, it’s the fourth of July, but Mother natures rules this year.
The tiny creek is a raging river, littered with trees, bird feeders, toys.
Our grave driveway is underneath the water that blocks the road.
My dad worked at the Tennessee Valley Authority when I was a kid.
Their job was to try to manage flood control. Where there were floods,
We went to photograph, special phone numbers told river levels.
We filled out charts in the days when a main frame took up a room-did one thing.
It’s in my blood. Two of my sons son and two friends sloshed up the road.
The water running down what used to be roads, way to deep to be safe.
Taking videos, pictures, laughing, giving up on umbrellas, soaked to the skin.
Though we laughed, it was muted, somber. We knew why the yards of mud came.
Our mountain city is obsessed with getting rich people from other places to come here.
Strip the vegetation so they can “see” from houses we couldn’t dream of.
We shout to no one, “GO HOME!” CLEAN UP THIS MESS!” But they keep coming.
The collapsed retaining wall and 8 feet of lost land are somehow “our” problem.
I know how the native Americans felt. For “white folks” we’ve been here a long time.
The 1780 US Census lists us in this county, by 1840, we were on this road.
We have lived in this house 5 generations and now my kids can’t afford to live her.
Something is really wrong with this. It used to be a quiet farming community.
I can’t help it, I am mad. I know good people have come here too.
For all the greedy developers, mostly bankrupt before to long, I have one message,”Go the heck home, glare down on your “lessers”, ruin their land, build mansions, ruin the land,
and don’t forget to take pictures of w=what life was like before you ruined it for them.