This time last winter the floodwaters
were lapping at the 13th stair, a dirty
blue mist had obscured the opposite
bank and everywhere the city seemed to be
waiting with its famous rumpled serenity,
badly used, still belle and fab
in its helplessness. A dull glimmer of metal rods
submerged in gray sea and white foam.
Railings, or handlebars, or half
of an ironing board, baffled
in its ludicrous journey.