Miss Charleston

The world will do without you,
even as you cross your arms
with all the concern that drifts in
on the tide.
It will wash right back out.



The world will only sting
for a moment,
the discourtesy of a pale jellyfish
sunken in a hole.
There was no lesson in the accident.
Your steps have a right to their weight.



The world will choke on weather,
its floating smog and dust,
its mass exodus among avian and insect.
All the dust’s storms and sun’s radiation
summon from you is a cough and a roll
in the hammock,
likewise from a cat on the sill.
Neither of you wake for the trouble.