Don’t Name Your Child Katrina
by Pat Laster
‘Twas way back in the
summer now
of
twenty-ought-and-five—
a great long time ago,
my dears,
before you were alive,
that Mother Nature’s
children,
tired of living in the
blue,
decided they’d been
good enough
to plot some
derring-do.
On June eleventh, Miss
Arlene
blew up at sixty per;
her wind gave out &
she gave up––
the effort now a blur.
Young Bret decided he
could surely
best his sister’s deed,
but he veered off to
Mexico
with hardly any speed.
On July fifth, Miss
Cindy tried;
her winds were stronger
yet.
The only consolation
was
she beat her brother,
Bret.
Now Dennis flexed & huffed
& puffed
––the stars were in a
line.
His wind speed hit ol’
Cuba
at
one-hundred-forty-nine.
But Dennis––Mr.
Hurricane––
had lots of fury left.
He whomped Navarre in
Florida
& fled––the coast
bereft.
Not willing to be
jeered at, Yanh,
yanh, Emily’s a bore!
in one week’s time, she
grew into
a Category Four.
Both Gert & Harvey
petered out,
but Irene acted tough.
She earned the title,
Hurricane;
could not prolong her
puff.
Old Mother Nature
watched her brood
with all maternal
pride,
but wasn’t quite
prepared to witness
wild Katrina’s ride.
Katrina’d waited,
studied, too,
Camille (her cousin)'s
fame––
the deadliest, most
intensive storm,
the history books
proclaim.
For days, Katrina
researched, trained,
determined to be best––
or worst––depending on
who judged.
She wondered if the
test
was surge, or wind or
millibars,
or slope of coastline.
Soon,
she left her mother’s
lair & slammed
into a Gulf Coast dune.
She changed her course
& spread her arms
& whirled with all
her might;
demolished Gulfport,
New Orleans––
her wake a tragic
blight.
Don’t name a child
Katrina, dears,
whatever else you do.
Who knows, her daughter
may return
to ruin me and you.
~~
Written for a 2005 NPD
contest, “A current event since 2000” in ballad form, sponsored by Barbara
Longstreth Mulkey. It won first place, but hasn’t been published since. On this
10th anniversary, I offer it up to the blogosphere.
