Locals soothsay weather
as inclemency—the young
learn it early so they
don’t have to respect
the elderly. Travelling,
I hear lawmakers
still have vestiges
of superstition, so temples
survive among high-rise—a fear
of what might happen,
the niggling power
of ancestors. Storms
manifest, illuminate
the planet—an integrated
powergrid—all storms
everywhere joined up.
Who could have seen
that one coming?
Like extreme sports
unravelling the pristine,
drop-in drop-out
visitations,
head over heels,
twisted daredevils.
Here they intone
‘the stranger in town
is definitely a man
dressed up as a woman.’
The drinkers and teenagers
have ‘its’ measure:
‘the plumbing’s all wrong’.
Unearthing, exposure, revelation.
Old and young
are hot under the collar,
it has brought them together.
Female intuition,
male bravado:
‘we see our future
spread out before us…
if we don’t act,
if we don’t follow the signs,
we’ll lose our
way of life.’
Barometer: low.
Valley: dry as bones.