even the bus groans

wind
used to trot thru
here smile on us
all bless us
now sits ragged
in leg irons prisoner
to those who would tame
earth & its weather-beaten
urchins

wind will be
rehabilitated saddled
harnessed ridden upon
will carry mighty
frontiersmen to
scripted appointments they
who are mightier than
wind who indulge in excess
windiness to tame
control wind & rule the
windless

we have lost the
wind in our
lungs cry the less windy
stolen from
us by philanthropics
caged unseen till it is told to
breathe

boast we have captured the
wind whipped its bare
back it speaks only
when we allow it for its
own good

plagues of windless die
breath deprivation hay
fever is a thing of the
past sneeze will cost you
thirty good pieces of
silver repeat offenders get
isolation solitary
confinement

wind
has ideas dangerous
must be contained till
airless begging for every
morsel of breath
mourns in sackcloth
ashes

whip crack
lightning storm clouds
bubbling soon we wil burn
out the sun wind will
be rendered meaningless
no match for ego in
laboratories we ride the
wind in our hunt for new
conquests
a
hobo on the
bus his chariot ablaze
tells a joke that never
seems to end drunk on
powerful wing of punchline
bus groans under heavy
hand shifting
conquered
wind

© John Kennan 5-3-21