The Sky Has Gills

Broken-hearted are the tree limbs, General Flooding surveys the wreckage blames a subversive sky. Gamely, the peg-legged scarecrow salutes the wavy navy while they row on by in their bathtub parade. It's a fine day under water, cats are stewing poems in a bobbing blue barrel; words drip from their whiskers. Ducks flop their slippery wings as oily drums grease their oily bones. Rowdy are the gulls that pipe the rain ashore, it's as if the blocked-up boggy landlubbers had Mackerel eyes, or as if the sky had gills and needed more.