Crickets on the hearth,
Spiders in the bed,
push early-morning risers
to live out their dread
of hurricanes and floods
and myriad disasters;
reminding us we are mere humans
and the joke of the universe’s laughter.
Perhaps, that is why some few stay
and refuse to be subdued,
pretending they control the stage
lifting a finger in Mother Nature’s face.
And we imagine they are me and you.
As the curtain comes down
the audience leaves,
except for the very few.
And laughter dies, as seas and rivers
overcome their bounds and flow anew.
annarino writes 