You needn’t be born a Bourbon
To dream your funereal deluge,
Some climactic climatic disturbance
To rain out the end of your reign.
A desultory drizzle of tears
Is the most that most of us get,
Precious precipitation
But scarcely the torrent we merit.
We’d prefer a proportionate downpour
But will settle for rills swelling
And basements portentously flooded—
Though even some frustrated faucets
Would do, a drop in the pressure,
Ice in the pipes of the world.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Portico Launch Party
Join us at the Union League Club in New York to celebrate the first issue of Portico.…
Pitch for a Catholic Novel
Imagine a middle-aged white man in good clothes waiting for a morning train at a station of…
Disclosure in Modern Poetry (ft. Glenn Arbery)
In this episode, Glenn C. Arbery joins R. R. Reno on The Editor’s Desk to talk about…
