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Inclement Weather
Cristina Sciarra
Storm clouds-- billowing, ashen
travel fast, build momentum
like dice across newly waxed wood.
I stand and wait, waist deep, for the sky
to open, laugh and spark. The water
is absinthe, viridian, azure, lapis lazuli—
bright and warm like saris at a bazaar.
Twenty yards away, old Miami fogies ebb
in the boiling tide. Salty hair
runs down bumpy heads in patchy stripes.
The flesh droops, filling out bathing suit bottoms
molded as if from candle wax,
all heaving bosoms and ponderous backsides.
Bobbing vaguely, they watch the sky
for the approaching clamor.
Now it’s just a waiting game.
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