2 December 2004 | Vol. 4, No. 4
Rehab
The summer we tried to kill ourselves it was humid.
The summer the floods came.
We ran headfirst into the water, and when that didn't work
we swam casually into the middle of the river and it took us
over the dam like bits of trees it had busted but couldn't sink.
Always to the side we floated, pieces of the flood
bubbling up as we choked and shivered, kicking the silence
off the porch at night. Like retired ghosts passing through the dark
we walked naked around the block in the rain.
We thought we were angels. We were so white and so cold.
About the author:
Damon McLaughlin works and plays in Tucson, Arizona, where he most enjoys spending time with his wife and newborn daughter. His poems appear online and in print, and among his various honors is a Puschcart nomination. Among his recent endeavors is (re)forming a band, though the right drummer has been hard to find.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Damon McLaughlin at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 4, No. 4, where "Rehab" ran on December 2, 2004. List other work with these same labels: poetry.
