means nothing compared to the rain
as it comes slashing through like artillery,
as it comes bending and breaking trees and bushes,
invading unclosed doors, hopping, hopping angrily.
Is this, like, serious?
Jumping into the car, dodging falling branches,
I feel the wheels getting lifted off the road.
God, how I love a good typhoon! You think
how the hell people manage to die until it suddenly,
O Christ, nearly happens to you. A gust of wind
hurls the car across the road into the track of a truck
which bleats and moans and avoids by inches.
Sancta Maria! That was a close one.
Maybe try to go home?
Home, when you get there, is battened down.
Storm shields come out like the Second World War
and every window and door is sealed. We know
that a lot of people die in typhoons. I used to think
that was bad luck, getting caught in the open, but what
the hell can you do when your house gets blown away?
Pray.
Dig.
Die.
Wave a British Passport :
(don’t laugh, these idiots BELIEVE!)
