Wind Games by Joe Massingham
Wind whispers sweet nothings to adolescent wheat,
suggesting they go off together to the city.
She giggles, tosses her hair, hunches her shoulders,
turns her delicately tanned face to the sun.
Rebuffed, wind moves on, but the lure
of bright lights lingers with wheat.
Autumn comes and full-grown wheat goes,
but to the silo, not the city. Wind,
furious at finding her gone,
vandalises the fragile stubble,
scoops up top soil and carries it off,
dumping it on a distant shoreline
when his attention is attracted by
flirtatious, blonde-haired waves.