Even from way over on Elysian Fields it sounded
like a disaster drill, a siren a frantic army of titanic
kazoos blasting out holiday medleys, alarmed we
headed down to the levee, there high up behind
the wheel house playing in harsh blasts and shrieks
the rotund meister hulking in a broad hat,
walloping out Here Comes Santa Claus, the crowd
between panic and tears gaped at the discordant squeals
of steam, even a flock of birds sweeping up-river veered off over
the bayou for safety as we, trapped on the ground helpless
and too astonished to flee watched the whistles tear
into the air like a scene at a fiercely burning building
the whole steamboat threatening to explode with joy.
by Tom Dow
"Steam Calliope on the Natchez" first appeared in the Red Clay Review, 2019
Well done, Tom. This poem is ringing in my ears, and making me wish I were on the levee.
ReplyDeleteKate Betterton