Mixed Images
The wind like a siren, not sound,
but intensity, after a caramel machiata
with lavender at the local Brazilian
Café, when she insists on pushing
her wheelchair back that Gary
has generously pushed her in
to get there for her favorite
fragrant brew.
He is now hatless since he almost
lost his cap when it blew off
his head en route, she, a black
beret tight across her forehead
and against her left ear
has kept her head covered,
braving the brutal breeze back
to their apartment on Lake
Michigan, Chicago, a step at a time,
where the waves are spraying
spindrift across Lake Shore Drive.
The wind velocity seems worse
once they get up to their apartment
on the fifteenth floor, the chandelier
above the dining room table lightly
swaying the way you’d move
your hips to slow music, somehow
scarier that the wind invasion is inside.
