Michael Cluff- A Poem

Gusts 3

Camille texts me
her paper
was blown over
the car
into the still soppy drainage ditch
lost to the acts
of a capricious nature.

Having had my loose
new silk birthday necktie
ripped from my unbuttoned-down collar
make me mellow
towards her
not myself
for planning
to wait until
I reached my office
to create the perfect
dimple
and
knot.

The wind does not care
one way or another
it just howls
joy accenting
the final notes
of passing.