FOUR FICKLE HURRICANES

CAT 2
(96-110 MPH)

Chucky the alligator swims away
when the zoo floods. Deer dog-paddle through streets
and collide with iguanas and tree snails,
the endangered kind that people step on

when the zoo floods and deer dog-paddle through streets
named after turtles: Box, Painted, Red Eared,
the endangered kind that people step on
when they leave hurricane parties tipsy

and named after turtles: Box, Painted, Red Eared.
They cruise along at 9 MPH
when they leave hurricane parties tipsy
and full of wind. Their cheeks bulge with sea foam.

They cruise along at 9 MPH
and collide with iguanas and snails,
trees full of wind, streets bulging with sea foam
and Chucky, passing in the left lane.

CAT 3
(111-130 MPH)

Squalls spin like whisks, wet tornados spiral.
Publix bread aisle, dairy case wiped out,
water spouts sprout—every virile man
surfs from store to store in search of booty.

Publix bread aisle, dairy case wiped out,
women hoard Winn-Dixie figs and body
surf from store to store in search of booty.
On sale: shorts with "JEANNE" written on the butt,

body suits for women hoarding figs at Winn-
Dixie: I SURVIVED FRANCES, they say,
on sale beside the shorts with "JEANNE" on the butt
for tourists in their tube tops and low-ride jeans.

Dixie says to Winn, “I survived Frances,"
water spouts sprouting, every virile man
eyeing tourists in their tube tops and low-ride jeans,
squalls spinning like whisks, tornados spiraling.”

CAT 4
(131-155 MPH)

Whenever I evacuate, I clean
like a little dirt-devil, like a funnel
of Lysol. If I'm washed away, I want
my kids to find my pristine will, no dust

of dirt-devil or lemony Pledge funnel
twirling my secrets around and around.
My kids should find my will pristine, no dust
between the whirls or rust among the swirls

twirling my secrets around and around
my bedposts. I've scoured the moldy grime
between the whirls and rust among the swirls
of the cursive love notes from Don Noe

taped to my bedposts. I’ve scoured the moldy grime
with Lysol, washed away what I wanted
of my cursive love notes from Don Noe,
the ones I find whenever I clean and leave.

CAT 5
(155+ MPH)

Your Red Cross Comfort Kit contains a comb,
toothbrush, paste, washcloth, brush, soap, and shampoo,
and although there is nothing like in-person
medical attention, you'll be given
Bandaids, Advil, and Tums to help you through

until we Wet-Vac emergency rooms.
Your Red Cross Comfort Kit contains a comb,
a forest of pineapple palms, pelicans,
and pranks. Although there is nothing like imper-
sonal red-tape, FEMA will serenade

your six little ones and your senile Dad
until we Wet-Vac emergency rooms
and untangle the seaweed from traffic lights.
A forest of pineapple palms, pelicans,
and nurse sharks (who just might come in handy)

will reoccur in your surfing dreams
as your six little ones and senile Dad
sleepwalk, crushing seashells and sand dollars
and untangling seaweed from traffic lights,
Jung archetypes from nightmares on I-95.

Key West, Labor Day, 1935
will reoccur in your surfing dreams.
A forest of pineapple palms, Band-Aids,
sleepwalkers, seashells, and sand dollars
will keep you safe in a fleet of hurricanes.

DA DA SEXUALITY

Peter Pan still liked to fly after he gained all that weight.