Ill Wind

by Glen Martin Fitch

Oppressive, inescapable,
you suck all reason
right out of the air
and under that incendiary glare
we broil and bake
in singeing gusts,
No matter how we hide
we have to hear you howl
and screech and rant
'til you prevail.
We wilt and whither
in a toxic gale of filth
that bellows
in each bullied ear.
You blast us on and on
Oblivious that we might be
annoyed or want to speak
or just sit quietly.
Guess you think conversations
fear a void.
How can you talk so long,
talk dirt, and why?
Be silent, silenced,
lose that voice or die.  


Glen Martin Fitch's picture

Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."

Last updated September 06, 2011