Wet Basement

Wet Basement

It was only when all my books—
      neatly organized upon
      the drywall wall,
      down in the basement,
      displayed in sections . . . .
                a section for my favorite books,
                some duplicated in the section
                                      for my favorite authors,
                a section on how to write,
                one on how to sell,

                Buddha?
                      a section all his own.

                There was even an empty section
                                    for books of my own, books
                                        I’ve still to write and books
                                              I’ve still to sell.

when all my books—

—came crashing down off the wall,
deep into the two inches of water
rising from the flood of the river,
softening the drywall wall—

I realized—

even when you do what you want,
what you’ve always wanted to do,
you can blame Him or just
learn that change changes
and change comes,
like it or not,
it comes.