The wind resembles zebras

The wind resembles zebras more than zephyrs
as it kicks its heels up heeling over schooners.
Shoehorned into a hovel in the harbour
this wind cleans house and rousts the sleeping souse
who’d crept inside decrepit and sedated.
Weary but aware and seeing clearly
for the first time in this century, with a grin
he’d forgotten having, he salutes the wind
that whinnies, kicks the door ajar and jostles
the man to mount it, ride towards the horizon.

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