The Wind and Mariah

The Wind and Mariah


The screen door is brazenly snatched from her hand
By an impudent gust.
Racing, careening currents chase the old woman,
Across the porch and down the steps.
She clings to the railing in self-defense.
Rambunctious blasts knock tulips to-and-fro,
Riffle the silk rose on her venerable black hat.
She is blown through the garden gate,
Onto the boardwalk.
Her furrowed face crinkles in delight.
No mere zephyr, this callow wind of Spring!

A clitter-clatter, chitter-chatter vestige of leaves,
Is harassed down the street,
At a pace the vintage lady can no longer attain.
She places a protective palm atop her velvet headgear,
As draughts tug and tease,
Attempting to insinuate themselves under the brim.

"Don't get any notions, " she cautions.
"Useless to fancy my hat'" she maintains.

A final jerk, an unseen smirk,
Wind rushes off,
Leaving Mariah, breathless and blown,
To totter on her way.

L