After the Blow
Yesterday the wind blew hard
branches now litter blacktops and lawns,
twigs crunch underfoot.
Minor damage
but this morning, neat suburbia
is a little ramshackle and shabby
the way infrastructure
turns shabby when chipmunks
gnaw their way through
to another hole,
or carpenter bees’ tunnel
or ants crumble caulking
into small untidy scruff.
It’s a day for a rain-proof slouch hat.
A day for surveying
what and which
fell prey to that blustery toss,
and what dodged (as if it could),
the glancing clout of the gales disorder?
I walk to the end of the avenue.
some walk in the opposite direction,
all of us
seeking small signs of downfall
the wind strewn and note-worthy.
We head home one by one
with our breathless tales,
a little swagger in our steps
very eager to report
not much at all.
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