Today’s prompt was to focus on alliteration and assonance. I may have gone into tongue twister territory, but it was fun.
Without warning the rains
came in sarcastic collision, climatic
precision, a shit storm to swallow
the whole and the hollow: swarm
of the south – stuttering, swamped,
squalid with suffering, the water
ran wide, bruised and buffering.
They all fled the bank. The foxes too. Back
up the track and suckered into the flat
of the fields. They’re still there now; skulk
sets hunting feasts, skulls of snack rabbits
stacked molehill high at the gaping
dark mouthed dens.
This is like that. Make me mother
my own mouth from motoring.
Picture credit: Raymond Pettibon No Title, (The First Water) more at https://rfc.museum/ae-raymond-pettibon