Standpipe: Delivering Water To Flint

I stack the last two cases of water next to six already arranged on the pitching, covered porch.  An old woman sits on a straight back chair gazing out on the street.  I ask her about the pair of lucky horse shoes embedded at the corners of her driveway.  They was there when she moved in, she says, never looking up.  The shoes face out as if fleeing horse and rider took time to carefully press talisman into wet cement.