The town's confused. A rooftop on a lawn?
A cow dangling from a tree? And a car
Rolled over like a drunk by cops? How far
Can reality embellish? Horse torn
From its stable? Fences down? A church shorn
Of all its crosses? Even striped road tar
Ripped up? O'Leary's restaurant and bar
Flattened? A fire truck in a field of corn?
Absurdities state their case this morning,
Upstairs in basement, hearts in mouths, and worse,
Tornado, no weather bureau warning,
The raw surge of air's goodwill in reverse.
The old town is no town this sad dawning,
For even slow and quiet is a curse.
- John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in International Poetry Review, Vallum and the science fiction anthology, “The Kennedy Curse” with work upcoming in Bryant Literary Magazine, Natural Bridge and the Oyez Review.