Aerodynamics no. 2
I’m not a bully wind, I’d rather
run buffeted through tight streets,
scratched by trees in parks.
Chimneys don’t whistle for me.
Laundry on lines flaps and jeers.
Drains grate me into sewers.
Tall buildings funnel me,
spin me desperately at dead ends.
Leaving the city I stoop low
to stroke grass, spread to fill valleys,
tumble over hills, before swooping up
to tease clouds into Rorschach blots.
I merry-go-round windmills,
carry dandelion clocks away into wishes.
I am the wind that hurries over
the top of wings to keep birds in flight.
© Matthew Joseph Johnson, 2010
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