The Deputy and His Partner

The Deputy and His Partner

The Deputy and His Partner 1920 1280 Courtney O'Banion Smith

paddled up our driveway, our personal
Noahs in yellow rain slickers and straw Stetsons,
because only our porch light was on.
Bags of dirt barricaded the door.

Do you need evacuation? he yelled
through the window over thunder
and rushing water. I worried he’d wake
the boys from their sodden slumber.

To where? The search light’s beam illuminated
only the drops that passed through,
bounced off dark windows of the other houses,
haunted ships on the new sea of our street.

Shelter. I need to know now.
We’re not coming back.

He was telling the truth.
But the boys sleep so deeply when it rains.

They floated off past the stop sign,
and the rain kept falling.

Header photograph © Melanie Votaw.

Share This: