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On Arrival
The people are okay, they say—
Just west, beyond the riverway,
The lot is worse;
But here the folks could want to stay.
The roads are heaped with wood, for good,
A rubble where the fan-trees stood—
A bric-à-brac
Replaced their friends from Hollywood.
The garbage-getting band, we understand,
Will do us something grand,
Come shuffle by
And truck it to Schlaraffenland!
Just west, beyond the riverway,
The lot is worse;
But here the folks could want to stay.
The roads are heaped with wood, for good,
A rubble where the fan-trees stood—
A bric-à-brac
Replaced their friends from Hollywood.
The garbage-getting band, we understand,
Will do us something grand,
Come shuffle by
And truck it to Schlaraffenland!
And I feel like this is really going over my head, too. I don't know what the last line means, and up until then I got the vague sense that the story was about gentrification and people stressing about what the good part of town to live in was. Rhyme scheme is all clean, and the rhythm is irregular, but I think it's supposed to be.
>>Pascoite
This is poem is about my return home to southern Louisiana after Hurricane Ida. I had been in the north visiting family on FMLA, and the storm struck on the weekend I was supposed to come back, on the sixteenth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina.
The damage situation placed an intense demand on municipal workers, who in turn embodied a collective need for everything to be replaced 'all at once'.
If I had to re-submit, I would probably re-title it 'After Ida'.
This is poem is about my return home to southern Louisiana after Hurricane Ida. I had been in the north visiting family on FMLA, and the storm struck on the weekend I was supposed to come back, on the sixteenth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina.
The damage situation placed an intense demand on municipal workers, who in turn embodied a collective need for everything to be replaced 'all at once'.
If I had to re-submit, I would probably re-title it 'After Ida'.