Another Hurricane Coming
Sounds like a Negro spiritual or command to walk faster
Or maybe a warning to not eat sugar
Or a sigh for the world
Hurricane creeping up the coast while we scurry
To get ready again all the while hoarding and grabbing
The Red Cross is changing color
And the crossing guards have quit.
No one is in charge
And everyone is yelling orders.
I am looking under my bed for currency
And sitting in the audience like Schopenhauer said,
A child waiting for the curtain to rise on life.
When we were young my mother used to love storms and would drive us out to the beach to watch them. All of us piled into an old woodie wagon with no seat belts or car seats or shoes or guns. Get out of the car, she would say, feel the wind, watch the waves, they might snatch you up. Away you would go. I usually sat in the car and shut my eyes.