ONE SMALL FORCEFUL GALE
The heat of the day moves aside
for a sleepy little breeze
that moves restlessly across my lawn,
tossing leaves, tearing paper,
tipping a cardboard box,
throwing its contents at the neighbors.
A single candle flickers out.
Wind's fingers pull at my hair,
smudge crumbs of chocolate brown on my face,
slap my cheeks, pinch my shoulders,
gusting, puffing away,
wiggling toward the top of the trees.
The street begins to fill with tears.
Tornado's shrieks rip the air,
tearing and flattening greenery,
blowing dust, screaming anger,
chasing neighbors home
with a voice that bends the horizon.
Hurricane's arms wrap around my neck.
Fat raindrops slosh down my shirt.
Then wind's tantrum begins to slow,
shuddering, breathing in sobs,
sliding toward night
and the silence of a cloudless sleep.
And then all is still.
My one-year old birthday boy
has cried himself to sleep in my arms.
YOU ARE READING
FRIDAY NIGHT PIZZA
PuisiThis is poetry about normal, ordinary life. Some of it will rhyme. Some of it won't. But I sincerely hope that anyone who stumbles across this will enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.
