Hurricane

I went back to sleep when the old woman’s eyes went straight through me like an arrow sharpened with a thick strip of leather meant for purpose some other but then today the use it has found for itself is just this like a repurposed story or a protagonist being made to do something else on a day of bad weather whether or not villains appear deceitful on such days weaving a chair from strips of coloured paper and plastic wire in the shape of her disappointment or the smell of the anger of Hercules riding a bicycle in Jumbo circus ring exchanged after “I do” repeated thirteen times at the minimum wage for a pastor who conducts weddings in vegetable markets that have been converted into jails since everyone is under arrest with or without a warrant wearing denim jackets breaking rocks making tiny pieces rough unlike pebbles and rivers break rocks and make pebbles out of mountains running dinosaur feet and egg chicken family and their flocks – yolk rock is the music of chicken farms sung with guitars and banjos at times harmonica but never a ukulele and amplifier pickups microphones and speakers vibrating membranes drawing patterns on beach sand or salt spread on them cold all around cameras in hand clicking right and then a click to the left immediately next to a Friday when she fries an egg, oh my god is an omelet cooked with little pieces of onions and chillies finely chopped with rotating blades of storms, hurricanes are songs about boxers in jail when pistol shots ring out in barrooms