Storm-Troops
November, 2020

Wind stripped leaves like frantic

lovers in a movie, urgent

and unseemly. I never believed

those scenes of  film-makers’

fantasies. I believe winds which

assault, cast down, overturn and

rape potted plants motionless

as observing children in an ugly

town. Their mother now stands nude,

holds herself erect, rooted, barefoot,

covers with branches her discolored

breasts, still as a tree which will not fall.