Dusty Afternoon

Even the names of winds

In English carry on

Mediterranean

Cartographic concerns—

The zephyr, the mistral,

African scirocco—

As absurd in England

Where the poets loved them

Despite those North Sea storms,

As in America

Where, thanks to the English,

They suggest old-fashioned,

Flowery poetry

Dragging in adjectives

To account for themselves,

As in, gentle zephyrs

Or, the fierce scirocco.

Standing on a mesa

In the desert southwest

In an alternating

Fierce and then gentle wind,

It’s odd to contemplate

How association

With being poetic

Can both extend the range

Of an old, working term

And make it seem foolish,

How each wave of poets

Disavows poetic,

Remuscles the language.

Then, whatever they use

Well to do so becomes

Another fancy word

Ordinary language

Wouldn’t be caught dead with

To name a dusty day.