River Blockage

 

A country crew collected trash
From the San Jacinto then
Blocked off access with concrete
Stanchions laid on their sides
And with piles of very-large
Stones.  I long ago resolved
That if this happened I’d

Move to Utah or Arizona.
Today before the rain
I drove down to look
And found someone had moved
Some of the stones.  I moved
Some more and urged the 
Jeep up over them and down.

Rain had stripped the trees of 
Leaves and wind had broken
Them back.   I had none of my
Normal gear, neither knife nor
Hiking stick, but we passed
Through the desolation and
Then fish-tailed back up over

The stones.  I’ll carry a knife
And hiking stick next time
Out.  The coyotes have   
Gone or perhaps wait deep
In their dens for whatever
Comes next.  “A Marine is
Always prepared” springs

Frequently to mind. They
Didn’t mean for everything
Our D.I.’s but with the
Passage of time it felt
As though they did.  How
Would I enable the dogs
To run if they blocked

The river absolutely?  How
Would I keep Susan well
If she withered away?
I took no camera, there was
No point in recalling this.
Our passage was open
And with the way cleared;

Perhaps there would later
On be Spring.  I was doubtful,
Pretending there would, but
Suspecting all the while
That beyond the dense clouds
Awaited nothing more
Than a mere tomorrow.