Post Tempest

The ginko nuts lie randomly where they dropped
Onto the ground, softening under the sun
Now shining strong, after the typhoon stopped,
And through their sour-butter smell I run,
Slowly, so as not to over-heat,
And nearly trip on the broken bird-wing
Skeleton of an umbrella on the street,
Twisted and bent, it’s bereft of utility,
Spindly aluminum proof of a cyclone’s wrath,
Of nature’s strength, and man’s futility,
Revealed in small bits, in the aftermath…