not even summer yet

dank clinging miasma of humid heat
not even afternoon yet     heavy the day
need a snorkel even to breathe      o breeze
o sweet vesper     o king aeolus    whence
gone that you bless us so sparing         what great
or small sacrifice do you require o
dead heathen god         o personified wind
blowhard liar of beneficence this day

no god but nature and she’s stingy tight
with her breezes today and taking no
appeals          so it’s more flailing     whirring    chops
of air from propellers and compressors
in their ironic acceleration
of carbon emissions and global warming.

david m pitchford
27 May 2012


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