My husband shovels brown-flow and seed potatoes from the drive,
slews the wheelbarrow to the garden. He pushes root-tangles
into sodden soil with last week’s half-grown veg
from the farm up the hill.

Corn stalks bristle the surface of mud-sludge,
and coupled ducks are swimming in furrows;
even the spillage of birds are in full-witter.

A guy on the radio says large smacks of barrel jellyfish got caught
in storm currents, floated into bays,
clogging the harbour, closing the power plant inlet.