In the end of night
Sun leathered magnolia leaves
Resound to beats of rain
Set grass blades to shivery dance
Cracked soil swells, fills, closes quenched
Droplets pool in hollows
Shimmering sheets cover all
Border foliage floats
On the rising flood.
Souls from the very depths
Swollen, pale pink, choked
Join the engorged slugs
Throw yellow beaks open
To herald the dawn
Eighteen thousand two hundred
TVs not needed.
Beneath icy blue
Kaleidoscope turns to red
Forewarns of Winter.
We queued to launch our metal wings
Where we were sh-sh-shoo-ke-ke-shoook
Cups and lips missing
Hot drinks undrunk shivering
Stomaches leapt, stretched, compressed
The purrrrlinggg! rings
Co-pilot politely runs through somethings
That at this time sound vital
As our flimsy belts constrain our forms
Within the mainframe of this compact
Missile loaded with the human virus
Complex beasts with complex needs
Agendas, wishes, dreams, plans, schemes
To land on friends and family whether willing or otherwise
They will be delivered
From this misery
Should this plane not glide safe and sound
But crash to ground in smithereens.
It would be great to sleep until late and if I could I would but can’t.
(Too tired to break those 17 syllables into 5-7-5. Dear reader do it yourself).
Unseen until swinging past
Tail enflamed in approach to Sun
Heated by that enticing prospect
Illuminating the dark of night
Shining through the brightest blue
Reminder that this sky
Is simply cloak