Artwalk POETRY and ART

Sweeping the sun-ebbed November sky that crowns
a stately queue of buttoned-down roofs, wind
chafes along the stretch of snapping royal
blue, aggrieved by cumulus absence; no to-do:

no buffeting or wailing, no storm cloud rumble,
not a drop or flake of precip to pelt; g o i n g
d o w n , blustering-by stolid houses, robust faces neat
and trim, flushed with orange brick or teal-bedecked

bisque, squinting against the brisk blow now
bullying branches for leaf filch and fling and … no, no
No! thwarted by bare boughs, laid low, scuffing
the gritty ground in chagrin when

shivers and rattles of anticipation focus
attention to boxes, barrows as blue as recycled
sky, lining the street, skittering
in huffs and puffs of dust: rabble-for-rousing,

inspiring gusts of mischievous glee to rev
them up in excited brrr-rrrr: dragsters hurling
themselves off the curb, with delight at gasps
from the mature home audience

whose windows arch indignantly as sky-blue
hotrods, “Wind-bedeviled rapscallions!” careen around
the corner, whipping the wrong way
down a one way street.