Bethany: I might post that poem I alluded to, but I'm a little worried that it's not that great.
Matt: if it is, I'll tell you.
this poem isn't about me (well, it is about me, because I wrote it, but it didn't happen to me. You can tell because there's jogging involved.)
On a Far-away Flood
As I jog on this machine,
January cold working loose from my legs,
television screens play footage
of a flood in Nevada –
and a man is flailing in a current
until a boat casts out rope –
he catches it.
And my entire being,
moving limbs and beating heart,
are caught up in the watching,
waiting for this man,
drenched face screaming relief,
to arrive in safety.
But before my eyes, the current
swept him away again.
He disappeared from the eye
of the news camera, and I couldn’t
see him anymore, and on my dry
Michigan treadmill, I was swimming
in Nevada too.
I just hope that guy’s okay.