A Limerick Meditation on Prairie Wind

Can we have a quick word about wind
A phenomenon I can’t defend
Vermillion, I love you
Can’t get enough of you
But dear goddess, when will it end?

The west side now looks like the Dust Bowl
As flags strain on each bowing flagpole
Every fence lined with schmutz
Trees pulled up by their roots
Put out trash, now you feel like an asshole

How did the pioneers cope, I ask ‘ya
No wind breaks and cold as Alaska
I know I would go mad
See: the fit that I just had
When my lawn chairs all blew to Nebraska

Is it a poor use of a poem
To carp on this aspect of home?
The air will soon calm
And the sun be our balm
And our objects will say where we stow ‘em