Alex

By John I. Blair

Late last night
The tinny tap of raindrops
On the vent above my stove
Announced the outstretched arms
Of Alex, first hurricane this year,
Were sweeping high aloof.

When Alex rushed ashore –
A wild man from the Caribbean –
Palms had bent before his wrath,
Roads and beaches
Gullied with his floods,
Beasts cowered down in brush.

But that was by his natal deep;
Three hundred miles of Texas passed
He masques as Alexander now,
As Sandy, Al the yardman
Merely watering the gardens,
Refilling all the birdbaths,

Hushing me to sleep
With soft calypso rhythms
On my unsuspecting roof.

©2010 John I. Blair

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