After the Flood

this morning, the sun blisters my neck
the lawn spurts with every step
squirting tepid mud onto my legs
at their bases, the electric poles blossom
blooming coke cans, chip packets, sticks
glued together with stinking mud
and everything reeks of methane.
but tonight it will be sultry; lightning is likely
winged termites will look like fairies circling the streetlights
the cestrum and murraya, sing their scents into the void
so I will sit outside and drink in the now.