The Mad Wind

One repressed morning
in the season of crackling leaves,
there came to the cloistered city
'a mad wind'

It summoned the devil's horn-section
and incited mobs of leaves
to dance and whirl about
in crass and anarchic fashion;
it switched the labels
on the wine bottles
and the eyes on lovers' heads,
causing the wrong bottles
to end up
in the wrong beds

It tormented the young
on their ways to class
and inflamed the old
on their way to the grass;
it knocked priceless pictures
from the museum walls
and had the audacity
to mosaic the glass

Of course they called in
the men in white coats;
they came in Cadillacs
they came in teams,
but the wind wouldn't discuss
his childhood or dreams

As days turned to weeks,
the situation grew dim;
all order was threatened
and all by a wind!
But Sunday morning
awoke in a calm;
the service was grim
and served as a balm

As for the wind,
he left no account
of why he whirled
or whither he went...
but the city well recalls
the time that was spent