Now for Day 22, the poem I like better than the previous one:

The Wind’s Will

Chicago
(pseudonym Windy City)
can’t compete with winds
sweeping down the Rockies,
pouring over Scotts Bluff to shake Carhenge
(rusty autos precisely arranged to impersonate Stonehenge)

splitting like Red Sea at Moses’ command
around pencil-thin Chimney Rock, lest it be erased
briefly swooping to stir the placid waters of the river Platte
like the Angel of the Lord disturbing sacred pool at Bethesda
(promising healing, starting the invalids’ rush to be first to immerse)
overtaking highway drivers racing eastward exceeding interstate speed limits
barreling past Lincoln, its thousands of football fans in clothes redder than stop signs

pouring over prairie like Noah’s flood submerging all the land
between Lincoln and Omaha in turbulent waves lofting loose soil
as if to caution there’s no guarantee 1930s dust bowl days are done
washing at last into Omaha, heart of the heartland, whose skyscrapers can’t compete
with Chicago’s, can’t create deep enough canyons, steep enough flumes to channel the wind
like Chicago can

dwindled momentum is left to ford Missouri River’s muddy stream
seep into Council Bluffs, perhaps ebb past it into Loess Hills
to slip down them picking up speed once more and soaring
over Iowa, heading for Mississippi’s wide waters
to finally make land in Illinois
on its way to Chicago
the Windy City.

Marian O’Brien Paul

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About marianobrienpaul

Poet, aspiring novelist, teacher, mother, grandmother, world traveler (lived in Turkey 3 years and then taught at Cukurova U there under Fulbright program for one year; lived on northwest coast of Co. Mayo Ireland for half a year), advocate for the mentally ill.
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