Irma

Flat, fiery, orange-red atoll
Aswirl in pixel-perfect blue--
That's how we first met her.
Irma's swimming our way, doing her monstrous
Over-arm crawl, sloshing seawater,
Washing and wiping out sea-spots
With furious strokes. Where will she heave
Her widebody wetness onto our shores?
Mathematics predicts a widespread panic
As ants scramble hectically out of their holes
Seeking elevation, all northward trending
And inland, though there isn't much point:
Our stormy friend will swamp the lot.