Windy May Day

The middle of my street is littered with cast off shoes and laundry
It's as though the wind collected them for washing
A dark blue t-shirt blows toward me as I stand by the door
I almost reach out to touch it as it blows away

My mother taught me not to pick up other people's laundry
So I watch it dance down the road
With a final flourish it disappears
For another dawn, another day

How about the hurricane shelters in the south?
I've never known a hurricane
I do know when I'm in the metaphorical eye of the storm
Spinning around and around me so windy

The wind is a current
It doesn't carry us gently
If it's gentle it doesn't carry us at all
Of all of nature I understand wind the least

The wind makes me feel wrong about all I've done before
It's the feeling inside that everything which didn't receive praise should be blown away
Such is the nature of my relationship with wind
The question is: if it's windy tomorrow should I go out in the wind?