23 September 2009

© Copyright 2009 Craig Nelson

The world is upside down
When the sky is ochre,
Desert dust shrouds us,
And a joker,
On the radio
Quotes a boffin
Who claims
16,000 tonnes of dirt
Blow by every hour.
An apopalyptic warning
Of our wanton ways.
The wind howls,
Close the shutters,
But there are too many
And the clatter and bang
Of windows and doors
Leaves a land-lubber stranded.
Trees stretch their limbs,
Wave and dance and frolic
In the face of our frivilous ways.
It is not a day
For outdoor activities.
Even birds are ensconsed
In their indoor equivalents.
Yet, I heard a chirp,
Nearby,
A call, perhaps,
That we can still fly.