But what then is a waterspout if not
just a tornado, keeping to itself,
drifting, silent over the churning hot
Gulf? I see it now, just beyond the shelf,
where the waters go from brown to sapphire
and the oil rigs twinkle like fallen stars,
beyond the reef. They’ll think I’m a liar
when I tell them all traffic stopped, the cars
sat on the seawall, transfixed by the spout
with drivers and passengers, mouths agape,
some of them even choosing to get out
to watch the gyre of the waterscape.
And then, suddenly, and much to the crowd’s
relief, it receded into the clouds.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s