Irene...

We wake up to you

wet, torrential

dangerous and

lightning beautiful -

as I think about the days before

when we prepare for your arrival

buying food and water;

we set the table with

batteries, clothing, and documents

cash and small gifts of penlights,

Swiss army knives,

water bottles

and cat food.

Our go bag is packed

if you are naughty

we plan to leave

without goodbyes,

with only the pack on our backs.

We made lists

and crossed off each item

several days before

to welcome you,

but also not to become a casualty

of some freak accident

during the occasion.

We worked all day

on Friday – August 26

preparing for our special guest,

you Irene – you are large

and furious we hear.

We cook a special oven chicken.

A three day feast

that should make you happy.

When our eyes opened this morning

the fans are on – a surprise.

We expected to lose power

when you landed in New York.

Unlike other guests,

there is no need to pick you up

at Kennedy or LaGuardia –

you arrive at both airports

simultaneously and they are both closed.

We watched “War and Peace”

last night – made in 1972;

I see my old friend Anthony Hopkins

as a young man playing Pierre.

He is wonderful.

We lay awake talking about you until midnight.

We are excited to meet you.

We have heard so much about you.

We wake to our first call at 7am.

Funny, we rarely answer early phone calls

But today – because you are coming – we answer.

Sisters, mothers and friends ask about you,

but, you arrive late – and you are quiet

and unassuming on arrival.

It seems we are over prepared

for you Irene – we have too much food and water,

your bed on the first floor is not required.

The water in the tubs, and many containers go unused.

The buckets stand at attention, but will not see duty

And now at one pm – after one hundred years of waiting

we think you may have spent the evening elsewhere.

In New Jersey perhaps, or Red Hook or Coney Island.

We are grateful for that Irene.

Although we waited for you – we heard you knocking,

felt your breath on our front door,

it was good you found another place to land.

As, when you broke water in Brooklyn there was no celebration,

you made the roads impassable

closed our bridges, flooded our streets,

and moved a lot of people to places

they never wanted to go.

So conceivably,

you might choose to wait another hundred years

before you come again.

Don’t take offense – you started as a depression

became a tropical storm

and someone gave you a name Irene.

Perhaps, that became your motivation to see New York.

Doug Claybourne – 08.28.11

Copyright © 2011. Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.