The rain runs
in filmy rivulets-
Hydrogen bonds and nitric acid
grasping onto
petrol and plastic.
Bitumen basins
funnel sludge
right into the bay’s gut.
Fish and microorganisms flee from
unrelenting backwash.
A dead zone enclosed
by condos, oyster bars, and bistros.
Desolate and dreamy
when the sun kisses
its sloppy peaks.
Jazz drifts across the Chesapeake
as if our brass and clash
can bring it all back,
as if something
still dances beneath.
pm poetry 