The Old Lady’s Hat

   The Old Lady’s Hat

   Animals in the compound, befuddled

And confused, take shelter under rusting cars and leaning corrugate- iron sheeting

   Leaving two young fawn dogs, torn

Between taking cover, or chasing each other’s elusive circling, gyrating curled tails

   Stopping suddenly, to sniff the changing shifting air

Above the coconut’s swaying leaves, tossing and weaving, anchored with no escape

   From the inevitable fingering of the dark blanket

Of storm- grey mountain cloud, laughing at the pea- green screaming high trees

   Flustering, like an old lady’s Sunday-Best hat

 Of peacock feathers, bobbling above the odours of moth-balls and cheap face rouge

   Sucking down the mountain’s menace

From an invisible mouth that targets the dogs, with a sniper’s kiss of white lightning

Waiting for the storm: 7^th December 2011 : Philippines