Hurricane! - It’s category Five!
With catastrophic damage to some State
Three States,- with people trying to survive,
Who can the consequences calculate?

The storm is just too big,- the residents
Of Louisiana, Mississippi flee,
And Alabama’s towns resilient
Are open preys now to calamity.

Stop penning poets pray of history,
And favored themes, or lovie -lovie‘s woe,
Or any other triviality,
Cleopatra, dear Mickey Mouse, John Doe.

Path of destruction, everything wiped out,
New Orleans under water many feet
Those fleeing may escape dread Kathryn’s knout,
But powerless will stay the power grid.

Who‘ll pen of wrinkles and excessive fat,
In times of fellow man‘s calamity?
While countries, parishes are under threat
To be wiped out in a catastrophe.

Sing devastation,- pen of Hurricane!
Your fellow man must flee, evacuate,
Forbid to sing of triviality,
And songs that now on nervous systems grate.

Lo! Human suffering will be incredible
Declare some county spokesmen on TV,
Destroyed transformers make help void and nil,
State after State declares emergency.

Oh New Orleans!- first time in history!
Your fate fair French town hangs now on a thread,
A victim of Kathryn’s ferocity
How many numbers will count lost or dead?.

Will the big bowl be filled, as levees break
And raging surges kick the dykes around?
While debris fly and structures sway and shake.
And pumps are failing, or are failure bound?.

And Tourists and the poor without a home,
Nor means at all where with to flee elsewhere
Go shelter seeking to the Super Dome,
Their misery with others more to share.

The water levies are inadequate,
Refineries submerged would then release
Supplies of waters that contaminate,
And compromise with foul and oozing grease.

Submerged will be the spots familiar,
The hapless throngs, the pauper refugee,
And people all that have not got a car
Will bear the brunt of the calamity.

The wind is tropical, and dread and fear
Fills all the hapless victims of Kathryn,
Whose deadly breath and gusts keep drawing near
To bury all and swipe the sea strands clean.

It’s vain to sing of strange theologies,
And speculate of what might be or not,
Much better t’is to face realities,
And pray for suffering fellow men to God!

© Elizabeth Dandy