Poem by Phil Flott

The blocks of river ice, big as Volkswagens,

taller than Moira, our town's basketball star,

tore out the cattle fences and posts.

We never did find them where they beached on the land,

after the dirty melt-off downstream receded.

They must have rammed against Spitzer dam,

all that tonnage rushing through the river.

It ripped out the south side of 'most everything.

All of us were left without water, and some no homes.

We had prayed for rain for our crops.

Now we had to seek debris removal from town;

in outlying ranches for new soil,

the pastures, gashed,

as from a giant earth mover.

Old Oleson lost his entire herd of heifers,

swept away even from their high ground,

by the volume of snow melt and river ice chunks.

His boys had been all set to take over the business.

Now they're all applying for government disaster help.

Historic spring,

sudden violence of

hopes all washed away.

Phil Flott