Boggy Brook

In flood the stream is still a walk over.
 A limp washing of the land,
a hesitant flow, never meant to be a tributary,
 or delta of anything much at all.
Here and there, the no name trickle 
turns into only a turgid sludge.

The opaque water slides through 
low, and unremarkable,
then after a mile or less,  it muddily seeps 
into a dank wallow of bottomland.

It recently has been given a name,
a new housing development
is being built beside its indefinite banks,
it is now named:  Sweet Water Creek.
Such is the lie
of the land around here.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

Poem

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