River Corpses

(If you sit by the river and wait 

the corpse of your enemy will float by.) Some Sage

Who is my enemy? Nobody but

those who persist in enmity.

I live near the Rillito River,

bone dry many months of the year,

until at last, big electric storms

come raging and flashing, filling it up—

swift torrents that sweep debris in advance.

I should sit with a sun umbrella and one eye on the dry,

littered bottom, watching and waiting, until they come:

A flood of corpses, tumbling and sprawling,

their damned dead bones bouncing off both banks,

bloated with their gassy insights, farting and bubbling,

burping, banging the bottom, stinking and getting

the world’s population down to a reasonable number.