by Angie Macri
One hurricane quickly followed another
until no one paid attention,
losing roofs common
even for prime ministers,
glass broken and flying, breaking again
to become even smaller
as it worked on returning to its origin.
In the states, people filled with sorrow
for where they'd just vacationed.
On a playground, a girl
began turning. I am the eye,
she shouted, knocking her friends down.
They demanded their own turn
until three or four were spinning
at the same time, laughing. Their legs
brightened with dust
as it hadn't rained in forever,
which meant no indoor recess,
the teachers sighed in relief.
Each one of the children
was screaming his or her name.
Last updated November 09, 2022