Days of Shortage

Everything declines
To concentrate where
Lashings might have helped.

Weeks, there’s been no rain,
Almost two months now,
The thousand-year drought

Is on us, measured
By shrinking tree rings,
Shrinking bank accounts.

You know it all dies.
You always knew it.
You repeated it

As a chant, a charm
To ward against it,
But when you feel it

Encroaching, next step,
You still panic, parched
Throat clenched, since throat’s next.