Raging winds ran the streets
like wolves in search of unsuspecting
prey. Hats took flight. Garbage can lids
spiraled like runaway Olympic discus’.
Newspapers trashed the sky with yesterdays
sales and obituaries. Hats tumbled like
children on the last day of school. Down
7th avenue a gust of random winds
created the sound of trains jumping
their tracks. Steam pipe exhaust leaned
without relief. Empty cigarette packs,
candy wrappers and laundry receipts took
flight without lessons. The song of winds
beat against windows and tugged at doors,
pushing men and terrorizing women.
Sometimes the city is a rotten apple.
Roger Singer 