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Monday 23 January 2012

The Old Lady’s Hat

Waiting for the storm

Animals in the compound, befuddled
And confused, take shelter under rusting cars and leaning corrugated-iron 
Leaving two young fawn dogs, torn
Between taking cover, or chasing each other’s elusive circling, gyrating curled 

Stopping suddenly, to sniff the changing shifting air
Above the coconut’s swaying leaves, tossing and weaving, anchored with no 
From the inevitable fingering of the dark blanket
Of storm- grey mountain cloud, laughing at the pea- green screaming high trees

Flustering, like an old lady’s Sunday-Best hat
Of peacock feathers, bobbling above the odours of moth-balls and cheap face 
Sucking down the mountain’s menace
From an invisible mouth that targets the dogs, with a sniper’s kiss of white 

© Harry Mills 7th December 2011 Philippines
All rights reserved

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