IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK

I Am The Wind

A poem

Photo by Shubham Sharma on Unsplash

I was suspected of being a Pisces
so I gave up my name and date of birth
and when they now ask what to call me
I say, Call me the Wind
They smirk and say, That’s not very practical
I just smile. I am the Wind

Five burn cans guard my inner kingdom
I make pie crust prophecies to passing people
seated on my sidewalk dais,
they see wisdom in deep facial lines
and they receive a moment’s reprieve
from their rapacious phones.
I am the free spirit they wish they could be,
more accurately, a spirit freed.
I am the Wind

Like a cat I sleep curled in a corner
watching above as the spider
lays silver avenues in the air
ways of trickery and deceit, politician that he is.
Today I sprinkled his web with water
so, it might be like the morning dew
and I shone a light so he might feel the sun.
He watched me closely and I saw him nod his thanks