Analysis of The Flood

It creeps up from the well in the floor
and spills over onto the cold cement.
I know its cold because I’m in my bare feet.
The water is cold too as it snakes out onto the basement floor,
spreading like a brush fire.
Grabbing a bucket, I shovel out the water into a cooler.
Mom begins pulling boxes and bins off the floor.
She tries to save what she can.
I continue bucketing water
until the cooler almost becomes too heavy to carry.
We take it outside and dump it into the yard.
In the moonlight, I see that the entire neighborhood
has become a lake with houses and cars and trees floating on it.
The rain shows no sign of slowing.
It wants to drown us all, Noah save us!

When we’re back in the house,
by the light of a lone lantern,
we see the water has returned to the surface for another round.
The bucket is my glove and I’m Rocky Balboa—I will not quit.
After two more cooler-loads of water
are dumped out and more is coming in,
I can tell mom is defeated.
It has already reached the carpet in the other room;
it would be ruined, along with anything else touching the floor.
The next morning—a beautiful, rain-free summer day—
we vacuum water from the carpet
and then take it out of the house
before it starts to stink of mildew.
A flood can ruin everything no matter how hard you fight it.