I hide under the umbrella of leaves
together we tremble with the talk from the winds
there's a screech in the beaks of birds
fledglings want help,
but air is thick and heavy
and flee doesn't have the wing.
A garbage bin gutted,
crashed against tree lies still
and in this eviscerated stance,
becomes a kennel for the cower
of next door's dog. Its frightened tremors
reach me in the fibrillating silence
between each turn of the storm.
As sky inhales the rush and sends it back as rubbish,
cars arrive with the thrust of hail and hurl themselves
under covers. Panic is an upbeat - we each wear our own
while drivers risk hope and lose the race.
Sodden shopping bags burst. All are orphans.
Too late to hide under the smiles of gods,
I am litter to the gale, rain-struck.
