ballerinas, terrified

In covert ops,

Wind slither-crawls down the mountain,

A meteorological army raid,

Building to

A destructive stampede.

Coarse-breathed boots on the ground

Wrench sun-zapped leaves

From fried sockets,

Forcing pirouettes and curtsies

From flower-ballerinas, terrified,

Just because they can.

Shrubs gesticulate in protest –

Surely such heinous behaviour won’t be tolerated?

Surely summer won’t be such a pushover?

Surely?