Plum Island

squall andrew wyeth

after Andrew Wyeth‘s Squall

the piping plovers hopped
along the time I went
birding, cold and wet

dispositions fret,
slickered yellow hiding behind
dunes pock-marked

by rain, canvas tote bags
dampened, ferried across the bay
to observe

the avian world. mid-june
we’d rather slather in
sunscreen and bake

in the heat but instead we
steep in the weather, peeling
our socks off after the squall.

(written for Poetry Writing: Form and Craft)

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