Hurricane Poem (In Three Parts)

Part One: Prelude

We had the hubris to have it named-
The Western sense preoccupied
With controlling the untamed.
It began as a small storm untried
Swirling off a distant coast-
If it garnered any headlines
It was page five, at most.
But she grew and organized
And barrelled out to sea
Still the world turned a blind eye
To the coming tragedy-
It skirted Florida- a sigh-
A bullet that we'd missed
But it quickly grew and drew a line
And prepared the Judas kiss.
Finally we saw the signs
And told the people "Go."-
Either folly or a lack of time
Which one we'll never know-
But many masses stayed behind
And huddled in a dome.


Part Two: The Meeting

The wind roared and rushed
Bringing in waves and salty slush
A mixture of dead fish and sand
Overcoming the helpless land.
Boats and yachts strewn about
Leaving the living with no doubt
As to the storm's remarkable strength
Tempered only by its shortened length
The water carried out its debris
As quickly as it set it free
And headed back down toward the beach
The rubble left proof enough of the breach.


Part Three: Repercussions

The levees broke in Orleans-
Flooding the city with liquid filth.
Twenty thousand men, women,
And children moan and die in the
Flooding streets. An old lady,
Dead in her wheelchair, sits rotting
Against a wall, her casket a sheet.
Babies wail next to corpses
And tongues grow stiffened and thick
With lack of water.
Tempers rise- people, the primal urge
To live so strong, resort to violence
To make their presence known.
(All the while the old lady rots.)
Bodies float in rusty water
Lit up by fires that go unchecked.
Much more than buildings-
Hope has been wrecked.
No sandbag can fix it-
No mortar restore
The spirit of the woman
Trapped in her attic
Losing strength and letting go.