River Tidings

by Brian Evans-Jones

No rain here — the clouds
thicken but keep
mum and if not quite
still then at least
demure. No rain
though the air’s charged
with water —
this morning’s fog
wet still on skin and clinging
into the soft
lining of
lungs.
         But at the falls
the river
rockets over
the dam: a long, loud
shout
of upstream
torrent, flood — printed
white onto
the black
dam wall. Thick
fast white, churned
with trouble — 24–hour
emergency broadcast,
layered, panicked,
tumbling over
itself.
         And in the rapids,
appalled whitefaced
water crowds —
pushing forward, fretting back,
turning
the big news
over and over.