Above is the place where a driveway used to be. This driveway belonged to an upstate house to which we fled when evacuated from Zone A of NYC before Hurricane Irene.
Which brings me to:
The Evacuee’s Plaint
From the frying pan into the fire,
the saltine into the soup,
the thick to the thin, the baby in the bathwater to the baby thrown-out
with the bath water–make that roiling water–
from puddled embankment to muddy rapids,
dim to dark,
maybe to absolutely,
the flooding to the washed-out.
It’s still raining here
where we’ve come
to be high
and dry. All feet
are cold
and damp,
but with
five toes wriggling.
Make that ten.
ManicDDaily 
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