LADY ON THE WEB

Having lost my beloved parents in a boating accident off Belize, it always upsets me to read about tropical storms. One shouldn't, but one does, drawn by the sore-tooth rule. Pardon, then, dear readers, this incoherent sonnet:

Hurricane Helene will pose no threat
To land, it's said, but she will pose a toast
To the aging, graying waters off the coast
Of Bermuda, hazarding the surface wet
In the busiest month for blows. They open June
And close November, touristing the trade
Winds over the trapped Atlantic, made
To shake us up, into a hurtling noon

Where senior specialists glare at the burning eye,
And 3-day cones expand in a dreamless, frantic
Tide, sucking the fruits of labor, cast
In promiscuous whirl and slap, bent to pry
Our pockets loose, picked for a smashing antic,
Tossed in bellyflop, to breathe our last.