Most Read... John McAuliffeBill Manhire in Conversation with John McAuliffe
(PN Review 259)
Patricia CraigVal Warner: A Reminiscence
(PN Review 259)
Joshua WeinerAn Exchange with Daniel Tiffany/Fall 2020
(PN Review 259)
Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
Vahni CapildeoOn Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
(PN Review 237)
Christopher MiddletonNotes on a Viking Prow
(PN Review 10)
Next Issue Sinead Morrissey 'The Lightbox' Philip Terry 'What is Poetry' Ned Denny 'Nine Poems after Verlaine' Sasha Dugdale 'On learning that Russian mothers buy their soldier sons lucky belts inscribed with Psalm 90 to wear into battle' Rod Mengham 'Cold War Hot Air'
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
Reader Survey
PN Review Substack

This poem is taken from PN Review 186, Volume 35 Number 4, March - April 2009.

Flood Alison Brackenbury

Flood

We are made of water. But we forgot.
For twelve long hours the sky sank down like lead
Without a breath of wind. Rain’s rush swept slates.
Offices dripped; you broke for home, instead
Of cycling, seemed to swim. Drains gaped like graves
Iron lids askew. Cars breasted tidal waves,

One road, brown flood, one, water spouts. Yet this
Was the storm’s lull. Huddled in café’s steam
‘I’ve never seen such floods in thirty years’
Travellers gulped down all hopes of reaching home.
As the winds rose, to dry phones’ sweet sea bells
They left for schoolfriends, cousins, hot hotels.

Then came the panic. For the pumps were drowned.
In wastes of water, taps would soon run dry.
Then people fought in queues across the town
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image