Somehow I always know when it starts;
when the locusts have reached the point of swarming
and the desert breaks away to fly all night
desperately seeking the green it cannot see,
a book of a billion fluttering pages
carried on the wind, each square metre teeming
with thousands of voracious lives. I wait,
sweating in bed while the cloud rolls on
until the advance guard rains on the roof.
Tomorrow, the streets will be littered
with dry, rattling dead swept by the breeze
and a few solitary, calm survivors,
while I will be pale and exhausted,
waiting for the cycle to begin once more.
S.C. Flynn was born in Australia of Irish origin and now lives in Dublin, Ireland. His poetry has been published in more than ten countries and most recently in Martello, Beir Bua, New Word Order, Tir na nÓg and Dreich.