Bigrit/I/B Poem by Ivan Donn Carswell

Yesterday’s dust storm dashed
unrealistic pretension about
Nature’s propriety – there’s
nothing better expressed than
severely reduced visibility

Seeing just 300 metres at a pinch
suggests something akin to dusk
at midday; the stench of it rasped
crudely with each breath and eyes
vexed with the grit

It had come a long way,3,000 km
from origins south blanketing towns
and cities delaying schedules playing
all merry hell up the coastline –
it wasn’t just me complaining
© 24 September 2009, I. D. Carswell