Day 1,131

The rain
has washed away
everything you had:
your tent, your blankets,
your children’s clothes.
Washed away. Ruined.
The tent fallen in on itself,
irreparable. The clothing
so soaked it will never be dry,
so full of raw sewage
it will never be clean;
so flimsy the water
stretches it, tears it apart.
What, now, will you do?
Once you liked to listen
to rain, the first rains
of autumn after months
of heat. Once the rain
was something you hoped for.
What do you hope for now?
Standing among the wrecked tents
of your friends, a chorus
of crying children, shivering
in the wetness: where
can you go? What
will you do
to keep yourselves warm?