clouds of dust, Mormon rain

The vertical lines of the bar graph,
resembled the silhouette of a city at night,

the unequal slices of a pie chart are colored like Blackpool rock.

(…he remembers childhood summers of candy floss,

Bumper cars and helter skelters.
A  faint taste of salt on his tongue,
blown in by a sea-breeze,
a cross wind
longshore drift
leaving him shivering like a fish

out of water.)

An afterthought
to pass some time:
he dreams of positions and battle lines
drawn in the sand with a broken twig,

the twig dragged across

throws ups
clouds of dust,
Mormon rain.

And he watches the graphs

scatter and lines,
ratios and percentages,
meaningless figures,
just lined up like soldiers ready for war.

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