Dessication

By 
the Alps are
bare of snow
the newspaper
sends a drone 
careening down 
the brown bed
of what
only last year
really even 
a month ago
or so 
was once
the life-
giving river 
Po
il fiume
Po
the sun
sears down
on no longer
fertile fields

scrawny 
remnants 
of plants
droop
to dust
while the
bird robot
tilts and pans
gracefully
elegantly
mindlessly
sending today's
regrettable
predictable
forgettable 
news
to Milano 
to Verona 
to Torino
that their river
of life
is now
dry