I Smell Rain On The Wind
Whirls of dry dust Make the city air translucent, Detached Bougainville flowers float In a mad trance Like white and pink confetti, I smell rain on the wind. Ill-latched windows Bidding adieu to hinges, Falling from high floors with loud tinkles; I smell rain on the wind. The pigeons hold tight The rusty balcony rails Cock-eyed and stock-still, Underskirts and nighties Billow on the clothesline Struggling to be let free Of the clutching clips; I smell rain on the wind. The children collect their colourful wares And run in all directions To the safety of their homes; I smell rain on the wind. But the man with the rake Continues his sweeping of fallen leaves, In the same rhythm, Unfettered by the ravaging air. The wind doesn’t like this indifference, Rebukes him, Leaves the high floors And swoops down to undo his labour. The man then stands, distraught, Watching his collected pile of leaves Turned and tossed, dispersed again, Labour for another day. Despair not! The wind is only A f...