The wind is violent and brawling today.
It batters and pounds,
blows my hair into a lion's mane
around my head,
lifts my phone slightly out of my hand,
and plows through the cornfields
with the strength of an ox.
I can only imagine that the wind
is tearing at rooftops and tipping trampolines.
It is singing opera at my windows,
announcing its presence that need not
be announced.
The wind makes my car get less miles
to the gallon, and it does the same
to my body as I trudge through
the murky sludge of air around me.
Each step is a workout.
Each breath billows my chest.
When I lay down in my bed,
I find I am exhausted,
and my eyes slip quietly shut
as the wind wages and screams
outside.
YOU ARE READING
These People and I
PoetryThis year for National Poetry Writing Month, I want to challenge myself by mostly writing about people I wouldn't normally write about. This could include people from my past, present, or even future. I'll be adding a new poem by midnight each day i...
