UNINVITED

by Ed Matlack Ó 2003

The moon reflected off the tin garage roofs,
Like bubbles of water bouncing off a hot griddle.
Glistening leaves from the trees pirouetted
as if an encore of ballet dancers.
The sneaky wind slunk across roof-tops,
Bent on mischief,
Rustling papers in a barrel now and again,
Yet halting hastily to see if it were detected.
Again, it starts its ghostly march—
Rain spouts, garbage pails and trash cans alike—
Feeling its murmuring presence.
Rufus breathed its cooling draft,
Sighing contentedly,
As it ruffled his shaggy pelt.

Ever so gently, it slides down the alley—
Not forcibly—just a winnow sifting through
The tenement obstacles strewn about.
Passing onto the thoroughfare,
Slowly moving to the opposite settlement,
It gathers up odor issuing from the delicatessen.
Raising to fan Mrs. O
As she sets in her rocker,
Receiving thanks for the brief relief from the heat.

Its object for the night it sought with abandon,
Commonplace people not perceiving;
The silent and canny goal of this zephyr
Being the high-banked sides of Wall Street.
A rendezvous, with whom it would merge,
Marked the commencement of a gala affair.
They whistled and spun through narrow passageways
In the core of the world of business.

Beginning small and gaining momentum,
"Wind-lets" developed into veritable giants of power;
Whipping and lashing at steel-buttressed edifices,
Intent to do damage to these mighty titans of finance.
Resenting their competition and recruiting more puffs,
They lay siege to their objects of the night.

Up and down, round and round,
They tore and they ranted.
Poling resources by gathering forces out of sound,
Fully garnering their attachment to these bestial enemies—
So silent and aloof.
Continuing their pleas for glory till early morn,
The minute inhabitants of the monsters of stone
Interrupted their project.

Not all too soon, though, did people appear.
The blitz-kriegers were well-worn from the evening’s tussle.
"Try somewhere else!" was the buildings’ parting remarks,
Thus breaking their night-long silence.
So the pilots of wind-power turned their noses to sea,
Reconnoitering and planning their next venture—
Never downhearted and still bent on mischief—
They fled into the gray dawn,
Not so much as a puff at the "Lady’s" torch.


Edited by Bobbie Hess