The Ice-Jam Cometh Poem by David Welch

Creaking, cracking, booming…
You hear the sounds before the bridge,
mountain quiet amplifies it,
step out on the old iron truss,
and a mess unfolds before you.

Creeping, slipping, shearing…
Long breaks in what was once smooth glass,
seams by the shore where current came,
set the center moving slowly,
broken ribbon slowly pushing.

Grinding, pressing, crushing…
Like slow-motion catastrophe,
chunks shift and jostle as they move,
strike rocks on bars, break down small trees,
smears on the ice, stained by debris.

Pressing, straining, slashing…
Ice so blue it's almost glacial,
piles up on curves and pillars,
jams the path, water bubbles up,
sends swells racing across the ice.

Chugging, seeking, streaming…
Picks up speed as it heads southwards,
to the big rivers waiting there,
the parks down by the shoreline will
soon be buried under the crush.