01 June 2007

at sunset weatherbreak

aftermath of storm the shreds of cloud
move swiftly through the clearing sky
light fading but bright enough to read by
the heavens this evening are a torn shroud
there's no one there no normal crowd
we see the bright birds despairing fly
in the west the sun's ready now to die
everyone's soaked and none of us are proud
across the barbecues we see windows gape
where storm has entered to play her game
but none has come to fix or even see
this tropic weather is a wild sort of rape
it leaves exposed the things that will most shame
and from its presence the wise always flee

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