Katrina: Sandbags Against 20 Foot Surges Poem by elysabeth faslund

Flood gates, blood gates, closed tight days before.
Frothing the mouth of water into curses,
Demanding release to dance, tango to weakness.
Anywhere.
Found it. Claimed it. Said,
I'm called Hell. Everything is mine, for I'm related
To God. I was the Red Sea, parted...now your
Bedrooms...want to see you up close...eyes,
Calloused hands.
I sank the Titanic...you threaten me with
Sand bags?
I eat continents...you give me steel toys?
I was iron before I was water.
I crumbled mountains with ripples...you throw
Sand bags in my path?
I made sand before your kind breathed.
I controlled wind before land existed.
You built dirt levees...I made dirt.
What part of stupid don't you understand? '