CHANGE

Pigeons rachet from a branch,

Like brittle pages, wind riffles leaves,

Low, bruised nimbus are summer’s thieves.

A change is on the way.

Blinds rattle, a door slams,

Raindrops in dust find sudden death,

All that lives holds its breath.

A change is on the way.

Wind-whipped wrappers, like baubles, on gates,

Ink lines of ants homeward scurry

Gaggles of children from schoolyards hurry.

A change is on the way.

Hatches are battened, chairs flattened,

Hasty unpegging of laundry to plunder,

A howling dog competing with thunder.

A change is on the way.

A ripping lights the sky,

A smattering, a splattering

A drizzling, a mizzling

And zigzags rend the sky

A rivulet, a brooklet

A-streaming, a-teeming

Rush, gush, lush

Cool change.

 © Rhonda Pooley  2014