A hurricane is coming.

People behave as if they were members of an ant colony

Industriously hauling water, batteries, duct tape, condoms, and Cheerios.

Unlike the ants, they are not cooperative;

The rise of the wind is commensurate with the level of greed.

All the fresh water is gone already and it is only 2PM.

 

By 5 PM there are barricades in front of the A & P.

The ant people have adopted military dress and are bayoneting steel belted radials

For misbehavior.

The queen ant is directing the sand bag people

Who are erecting a barrier between Greenwich and Portchester.

All the mid level ant people are instructed to remain in the center of the lot

And await being chosen.

(Just like dancing class, but no white gloves).

 

George Bush has declared a state of emergency

And organized a foot race for all presidential candidates

From Washington to New York.

Arnold Schwartzenager wants to participate, but

Is told he is not right for the part.

As the hurricane crawls up the coast

George crawls under the table in the White House kitchen,

Looking for plutonium.

Laura tells him he traded it to Tony last month

For some toy soldiers.

 

The axis of the world has shifted

As if someone hit us on our heads and

Our eyes can’t refocus.

We are all walking sideways.

Our perspective is so short.

We have let go of hope and its golden rope of sunset.

Our desolation is in our bodies.

Our souls have been eaten already.