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We get so little

true hurricane-rain,

while Neptune’s squalls

rape the sandy beach.

 

The air is balmy here,

the sky cloudy.

And sometimes the wind

drives the rain horizontal—

 

ruffling the trees, downing

the still-green leaves.  The

lights have been known to go

dim or out.  Stores everywhere

 

sell flashlights.  Officials have

been known to cancel school,

close the mall, if a storm takes

a westerly path.

 

But never have we, who live

inland, been told to leave our

homes, flee, or stay the course:

board the windows, “hunker down.”

 

first published in Washing the Color of Water Golden: A Hurricane Katrina Anthology

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