After the storms
Flashes rupture blanket gloom,
rumble sets my snaredrum soul to rattle
again.
I strain for a door-kick direction,
a boot drop, curse call clue.
I sense waves of acid fury
rippling towards me
and I clench for the
inevitable explosion
and the weary fall-out of cleaning and
meaningless apology.
Flashes frame my bedroom blind,
rumble rolls off ancient rocks
again.
Now I witness roving rage illuminate
my quiet valley. Stoic cattle
wait under the oak tree.
Rain in petulant sheets
rinses my fear and in the
percussion of the aftermath
I know that I am not
frightened by the weather.
Photo by Levi Guzman on Unsplash
