Hurricane Season

The trees were trying to run away.
Above the neighbor's rooftop they bent
but couldn't flee. They were workmanlike,
bent on leafing, not expecting this early onslaught,
and the way they washed the evening
with their rushing protest proved it.
From where I sat on the cooling deck
it seemed that hurricane season was obsessively literal
and though the wind brought blessed change,
I wondered with a wary eye whether hurrying branches
might break away and cut my season short;
no need for that new propane now
or to worry about wasps starting troublesome homes
in the grill, or the worn umbrella.

June 3 2013