Wedding Weather
Invisible, a freak storm cell gathers.
Bright sun warms the bride as she climbs the steps.
The blessing: 'And now you will feel no rain,
for you will take shelter in each other'.
Bright sun warms the bride going down the steps,
but huge clouds bloom purple and multiply.
' … hey, we will take shelter in each other',
she jokes. 'See you lot at the reception'.
The huge clouds bloom purple and multiply;
pebbles of ice begin to pelt windscreens.
She jokes, walking off to the reception,
'Where's a white umbrella when you need one?'
As chunks of ice threaten to smash windscreens
the hill in Chinatown turns cataract.
Where's a white umbrella when you need one?
A lake forms in front of the Casino.
The hill in Chinatown is a cataract.
The only way through is underwater.
The lake spreads in front of the Casino;
stranded travellers beach themselves inside.
The only way through is underwater.
She pauses to ask herself a question.
Stranded travellers beach themselves inside.
Brave taxis stall, submerged to the windows.
She continues to ask herself the question.
The train station platforms are all drowning.
Brave taxis stall, submerged to the windows.
How deep is too deep? How late is too late?
The train station platforms are all drowning
but the clouds have almost emptied themselves.
How deep is too deep? How late is too late?
Emergency vehicles light up the dusk.
When the clouds have almost emptied themselves
she limps in late, bearing her wet bouquet.
Emergency vehicles light up the dusk.
She
wonders who will care to catch this
luck.
She limps in late, bearing her wet bouquet.
The news says: 'Three months' rain in three hours'.
She wonders who would care to catch this luck,
but everyone is clapping and laughing.
The news says: 'Three months' rain in three hours'.
The blessing: 'And now you will feel no rain'.
While everyone is clapping and laughing,
invisible, a freak storm cell gathers.
From Canberra poet
Melinda Smith's book 'Drag Down To Lock Or Place
An Emergency Call',
published by Pitt Street Poetry.
I chose this one
from the book, from among all the other poems I would have
liked to choose, because I remember that freak storm cell, my heavens, that
was some kind of deluge.
was some kind of deluge.
http://pittstreetpoetry.com/melinda-smith/
No comments:
Post a Comment