It’s Just Wind

The wind blew off the ocean yesterday

but it was just the wind. It isn’t named

like wind in Santa Barbara or L.A.

It’s simply wind. I guess the weather man

can’t think of anything to call this wind.

At least it isn’t called a “Sundowner.”

That sounds like a spaghetti western wind:

Tumbleweeds rolling down an empty land

while Eastwood tries and fails to strike a match.

His soggy, chewed cigar cannot be lit

and he can’t fight, and all because the wind,

the Sundowner, is blowing in his face.

At least the Santa Anas have some class.

You can attach them to the Alamo

and fighting, mayhem, overwhelming odds,

and it’s a name that conjures chaos.

“The Santa Anas flipped the semi-truck

and ripped the roofs from houses. Tore down trees. . . .”

But we are left with nothing—just a wind.

“The wind was blowing really hard today.”

So fine. The wind was blowing. Woop-de-do.

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