The Uninvited Gust

We thought the trees were waving, beckoning, behaving
like they wanted us to play—“Won’t you come out today?”
But it was just the wind puppeting tree limbs
so I would open up the door. Oh, the hullabaloo in store!

Cold shouldered in hoping it would win
a cozy spot by the fire where it could retire.
Wet blankets of rain, like a hurricane,
dampened heads and spirits. The mop would not come near it.

Then came in the leaves herded by a breeze.
They flew around like mad, taking off my hat.
Fog wandered through not sure what it would do
in its misty state, the lightest of dead weight.

I cried, “Get out, you must!” when the uninvited gust
tossed aside my bagel and wrecked the breakfast table.
But our foul-weather friend didn’t want to end
its ruckus through the house. It wouldn’t be thrown out.

What do you give an ill wind that doesn’t want to send
itself and friends back outside? A joke? Some love? A pie?
It was only when we sank into laughter at the prank
that the gust went on its way. It just wanted us to play.