Wake of a Storm


photo by Charley, Hurricane Irma


For days it lurks
in the back of your gyring

You stay busy.

The reality creeps
forward and you sleep-
walk.  The mad rush
becomes a numb panic.

Between chasing
your preparation kit
and drilling to board
up, you talk together.
Maybe we should move
someplace that’s safe.

The dilemma that drives
the discussion is deciding
where is “safe.”

Key to sanity is to not look
over your shoulder – to ignore
the feral yammerings of third-
party administrators; who take
hold of reality, up the color
and the contrast, making
everything about the storm HEADLINES.
They emphasize the threat,
ignore meteor-logical guidance,
aim it for City Center.

Panic is that minuscule bug that crawls
in your ear and explodes.  You lose
reason: you’ve sinned, God is pouring
out wrath, you still drive a car, change
is your fault – this has never happened
before!  Nature hates you for voting
for anybody but my candidate.  Board
up doors and windows to keep
the loonies at bay.

The storm is terrifying
and cleansing.  It strips
away weak trees, clears
dead limbs.  It reminds
you that it’s time to seek
a reliable roofer.

Co-workers and your family leave
you alone after you tell
them you didn’t watch
coverage, won’t watch
it because death and destruction,
and the miraculous are reruns.

Your life needs to come
back, feelings must return.

You thank
them for their thoughts
and their prayers.

Then you move on.

23 thoughts on “Wake of a Storm

  1. I chucked out the TV some time ago and the radio remains silent unless I put something in the CD player myself … due to the nonsensical reruns. Powerful poem, a sardonic comment on what should be obvious to everyone.

    Glad you and your family are safe. To sit and wait for possible disaster must have been very hard.

    Liked by 1 person

    • We are not in the age where people latch on to the obvious. I feel at times like I’m in Monty Python’s The Life of Brian… the scene where everyone is at the outer edge of the crowd at the sermon on the mount. A pompous ass is explaining the blessings that no one is hearing correctly; “…blessed are the cheese makers?” It must be this, or it must be that. And I just want to scream, it’s called bloody fucking weather! It wouldn’t be happening if we could just lose all this damn atmosphere! Get a clue, people!

      That said…. I feel better now. 🙂


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