Storm Warning
June 26 2008


All day, storm warnings
— risk of hail, lightning bolts, heavy rain.
The sky is dull, the breeze fitful.
There is a sense of things pent-up,
of watchful waiting.
The world is holding its breath
and the suspense exhilarates me
— like electricity,
the knife-edge of change.

I can hear rain, pounding down
the tin roof deafening.
I can see glass, streaming
like a ship at sea.
I can feel my heart race
the ground, shaking underneath me
— thunder directly overhead
like 2 freight trains colliding full speed.
And the wind, smashing the shutters shut
rattling the gutters and eaves.

Or maybe, more of the same,
the wind shifting, indecisively
the birds unnaturally quiet
and the claustrophobic sky
made of wet concrete.

I am tantalized by heavy weather;
which is neither blood-lust nor death wish,
but more my own powerlessness
at such overwhelming force.
So I watch and wait, impatiently,
helpless even in this.