It didn't show up, did it? Were you looking forward to a good Tsunami, to clear the flotsam and snowbirds off the beach? Shame on you. There are better ways to get the Winnebagos out of town, you know. And while I would be high and dry here on my hill above the town, several of my favorite hang-outs, including my favorite coffeehouse, might be in Davy Jones locker. Not good.

This isn't the first time our stretch of coast has been warned of a big splash that didn't arrive. The last time was about 10 years ago, and I wrote a poem about it.

THE DAY OF THE TIDAL WAVE

A cat, resting on my warm tar roof
on a Summer night, is surprised
by thunder.  My dog is barking.
I wake, thinking of someone.
But this is not about her.

The sun arrives with a garbage truck,
my room becomes light.
A radio comes on, and today
there will be a tidal wave
from Japan.
I should shave and wear a tie.
Afflicted by the mirror, I confess
this pain is all my fault.
But this is not about her.

The day goes by like yesterday
except for the tidal wave
which never comes, and the rain.
A little comes, but not for me.
I stay dry at my desk
thinking about new snow
and the absolute silence of it.
A young deer watching me
turning away into the trees.
But this is not about her.