Placards outside City Hall again this year . City manager looks down at blue drenched faces in the rain . Looks up at the clock ,Then across the office where the buxom figure of Ms Sutton is
straining for fuller expression against her tight skirt and streched blouse. .Hmm.
‘ do they ever stop complaining ‘said Burke; grey eyed , grim faced ; menace in his tone .
The radio announces flood warnings .People warned to collect sandbags from the army barracks .Only those in the dockland area due to supplies .
The tide is full with the round broad face of the moon pushing above our horizon tonight.
The river is in full spate rushing into the estuary ; brown and peaty, and raging from , the Connemara hilly streams back behind the city. Crushing river ; swelling sea on uncompromised collision course.These conflicting forces of nature vying or supremacy now , while the occupants of the houses in the dockland peer out , see the waves crash in violent spume of spray over the break water at the causeway to the lighthouse. The wind rattles the door , and the beery smell of the Quays Bar breathes out onto the street .
If the wind strengthens before the tide is full the estuary will be inundated , and the houses ,uninsured now , since last winter, will flood. Again , And after the first flush of good neighbourliness abates , the mud ; the stench ; the contamination - sufficates and then drowns their spirit . Another Christmas without a house ; ;Another 6 months without a home .
A prayer in the Augustinian’s will scarcely hold back the wall of water nor the crazed fury of the wind and all its might t . Not will the flickering candle which the trembling spindly hands have lit for her husband at the shrine of Our Lady of Galway abate the warring forces .Inundation by surging flood or unrelenting push of spring tide ; poor choice
No contingency planning by the city planners again this year.
‘ Never bloody stop complaining ‘ says Burke , donning his Hardy wax and taking him umbrella from the rack -
‘’Lift home Ms Sutton’’ -Burk , smiling through his barely contained rage . Surge in his loins .; quickened pulse , like raging surf and bruising tide ;Who knows ; Another lusting gush of lust flushed in his hungry being .
Maybe tonight , he’d be lucky.Never know. Things happen with the full moon
© Copyright 2016 donkylemore. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Commercial Fiction
Poem / Flash Fiction
Essay / Memoir
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