After the Storm

After the storm a tentative blackbird chorus,
silent throughout it, started cheeping again.
The city, for fear of a worse overflow,
had unlocked dams, so water levels rose
at an alarming rate; the rivers burst
their banks, swamping fields in a sea of rain,
and flooded low-lying districts in one go,
the waters sparing neither man nor beast.
Square miles shrank as a sudden deluge rushed
from the rain-sodden hills. Ye nymphes of Bandon,
where were you when the great south-facing windows
of heaven were opened and it bucketed down
on quiet Munster? No one had imagined
embankments would give way under the surge,
the river Lee engulfing market towns’
water mains, drains and residential lanes.
It struck in late November, so by and large
no ripening crops suffered, no standing grain,
but haylofts were awash and much of the hard
work of the summer proved to be in vain.
Reservoirs, lakes poured down in a tide of mud
submerging farms. An astonishing six inches
fell in a single night from inky cloud.
Not much distinction now between sea and land:
some sat in dinghies rowing where they’d sown,
navigating their own depth-refracted ground
and scaring rainbow trout among the branches.
Global warming, of course, but more like war
as if dam-busting bombers had been here:
aerial photographs of the worst-hit areas
showed roads, bridges, basic infrastructure
devastated, the sort of thing you expect
in China or Louisiana but not in Cork.
Detritus of the years, carpet and car,
computers and a wide range of expensive
gadgetry went spinning down the river
with furniture and linen, crockery, shoes
and clothes, until it finally gave over;
not everyone had full insurance cover.
The inquiry dealt only with technical issues,
avoiding larger questions. Telephone
lines down, ‘boil water’ notices in force,
drainage schemes overwhelmed and of no use,
authorities hinted that it could’ve been worse.
(There would be building work for months to come,
developers would have no cause to complain.)
A general cleaning-up operation began;
houses, garages, skips gleamed with the slime
deposited everywhere like a disease.
We will get over it though we’re not sure how.
The country sighed in the calm after the storm,
emergency services set themselves to the grim
sequel as drowned townlands emerged at last,
the earth increasing as the flow decreased.
The birds, crowing and piping with relief,
announced a partial return to normal life
and light shone in the cloud until next time.
It’s snow and black ice we’ve to contend with now.

DEREK MAHON
from An Autumn Wind
Publication date: April 2010
in paperback and hardback

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