Flying over the Gulf Coast

I’m looking out

the airplane window,

onto

the Texas gulf coastline.

Blue water

as far as the eye can see…

What happened to the oil spill?

I know enough

to know

that disasters

don’t just go away.

When the spill happened,

black blood flowing

from the earth’s core,

recorded night and day

by an underground camera.

We watched those fuzzy,

underwater gray images of oil,

blasting out of that tube,

and we all held our breath

for the oil-covered animals

for the precarious economies

of the gulf communities,

hoping the efforts

to stop the hemorrhage

would be successful. 

It went on and on,

the ticker tape counting the days.

It was a disaster,

for the whole world to see. 

Helicopters followed the oil slick,

for hundreds and hundreds of miles. 

But today,

I’m flying straight across,

Houston to Miami,

and I only see the vast blue sea,

and the clear, clear skies. 

Where did you go oil?

Are you at the bottom of the sea?

Are you hiding in the corners or coves

of the swamps?

Did you float off to some Caribbean island,

or seep onto the shores of Mexico or Belize?

Today,

I don’t see

any trace of you. 

That’s a disaster for you.

Complete mayhem when it happens,

and then

it subsides. 

And then,

recovery,

and more recovery.

But the remnants,

the effects,

are still out there,

and we

just learn

to live with it.