Winter Derecho

More than just a zephyr.

Seldom seen in these here parts.

Sevenny mules an hour.

One hundred twelvy kilo-farts.

No solstice lock of winter.

The cursed sky just moaned.

Exacerbates my chilblains.

But, then again, what won’t?

 

Why? Does that doggie bark at me.

(There’s no cause to flee.

They just let him out to pee.)

Did I? Just hear an ogre sneeze.

(That’s probably the breeze.

Whipping through the trees.)

 

I look into the sky above.

The moon’s like Donald J.

Bugs residing in my pants cuff.

You don’t see that every day.

The atmosphere is acrid grunge

miles up in the air.

The moon’s a sulking orange

and supremely unaware.

 

Why? Do they plant wheat in winter?

(Botany, I missed.

Ask a horticulturist.)

Why? Do generic brands cost less.

(It’s what’s on the can, I guess,

not the part that you ingest.)

 

Many lacking light and heat.

Sad customers around.

Thousands in the county seat,

and one in Sorghumtown.

 

And, that’s pretty lonesome.

 

Now, let’s just wait a minute, folks,

and remember that one who is less fortunate.

Roasting a pizza-pocket over a can of Sterno

by the light of a solar-powered bug-zapper.

His smart-phone dimming more and more.

So, he’s rationing views

of Larry The Cable Guy driving a Hummer

lengthwise through a double-wide trailer.

And, that’s good viewing.

 

Why? Can’t I find celebrity.

(If you’re not on the list,

then it’s like you don’t exist.)

Then, how? Do I join that elite roll.

(Get in the noticed habit

and be pretty while you’re at it.)

 

I’m finished with the gale-force.

It’s been a wild ride.

I’ve had enough of the great outdoors.

I’m gon-na go in-side!