Baratta.net Stories

Something tugs at my jacket,
I look, but the wind moves mischievously on.
He cuts back to snatch at my hat.
Holding on tight I think just that,
Where do you come from?

What is your mission?  Have a son?
You are always moving, a running hound.
Toughing objects lightly or throwing them down.

Where do you go?

I'd bet strange things you have seen,
On your trips around the world.
Yet you are still content to keep a flag unfurled.

Do you keep a house?  Or pay rent?
Why on us does your anger vent?
You fly my kite, while destroying cities.
You are uncontrollable and not very predictable,
Even with all your good, your anger makes us foot
     the bill.