by Liam
Beneath the weight of the SE wind, men clutch their hats,
Gripping by instinct, as if the very sky would steal them.
Women, proudly too struggling , imprisoning their hair in turbans, scarves,
Grasping at skirts that flutter like prayer flags in a storm.
Newsboys, small and stubborn, hugging their papers tight,
As though the headlines might anchor them in this gale.
Head down, humanity bends,
Locked in combat with this unseen Goliath.
This ruthless Philistine of the air, unseen yet fully felt,
Catching all unawares, lifts them like leaves—
Mocking their frailty, then moving on, indifferent,
To toy with some other fleeting prey.
It makes passes at the bulky double-decker buses,
But they, impervious in their dignity,
Hold course, windows sealed like armor,
Unbothered by his wild, untaxing rage.
Overhead, the wires tremble and sing,
Their song a shrieking as it surges through them,
Hysterical in its fury, a promise of chaos unshed.
Down Adderley Street, roars
A stampede of wind, unstoppable and fierce,
Rushing toward the ocean as if all the world could be swept away.
Pedestrians and traffic alike are caught in this reckless chase,
The power shakes the earth beneath their feet.
Yet still it finds mischief,
Dredging dust and litter from the cracks,
Dancing with debris as though it were treasure.
What joy must it have known in a century past,
When yellow sands were lifted from the town square,
Spiraling upward in a wild abandoned pirouette.
Flung against windows, a furious reminder—
That the South Easter is an old thing, and this street but a fleeting guest.
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