Anti-Wind

Wind blows.
I don't mean in the gusting
sense of the word.
I mean it blows in the way
that things that suck blow.
You know, the slang
use of the word.
Like how having a broken toe
blows, or not being tall enough
to ride the ride
blows, or pizza
outside of New York
blows. That is how the wind
blows.

Always pushing you around.
Knocking your hat off your head,
making you chase it down the street.
Turning your umbrellas inside out.
The wind blows.
Howling through reeds,
scaring small children at night,
and then, during the day,
slamming their kites down
into the ground, smashing them to pieces.
It blows.
Knocking down that house of cards,
you spent most of the day building,
with one gust from a carelessly opened door.
It blows.
Wafting all sorts of foul smells
straight up into your nostrils.
It blows.
Whirling up women's skirts and dresses,
and puffing out their hair,
causing all manor of embarrassing clamor.
It blows.

Snuffing out the flame
on that last match
before you can get the fire lit.
Blasting your piss back at you
when you try to pee into it.
Oh, how the wind blows.
Swirling your father's ashes,
whisking them off into far away places
that your father never wanted to go,
like Guam or Iowa.
The wind blows.
It blows, big time.