Wind Crazy

WIND CRAZY

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A wind is twirling
down broad, manicured streets,
all looped and laughing,
hullabalooed and shaking
the stately maple trees.
And the wind is winding crazily
through twisted alleyways,
slipping under broken fences, whistling
through knot holes, thumping
her blue knuckles on sheet metal walls.
There is a huge, matronly maple
up on Ritz street. The wind plays havoc
with her; insights her to a shimmering
riot, makes her forget her decor,
lose her dignity, become young again
for a delicious while.
And there's a little runt,
a wayward sprout of an aspen down
on Doldrums alleyway growing
through a barbed wire fence which
has cut and scarred her skin. The wind
shakes her down to heartwood,
sends electric sparks through her
twigs, clatters her little round
leaves, makes her crazy with jollity!
like a little loony clown--
mad! out of her head, like a
child in a musical trance, out on
the borderlands, high on some
drug called wild sanity!
Oh, that crazy wind!