Hanging on
with my teeth
in a hurricane
that’s grief.

Rushing through
crushing me
breaking you
is there any more that it can do?

Power lines and taxi ranks,high street schools and country banks all in the air
where the hurricane brings nought but pain
and it always seems to bloody rain
when the winds outside decide to ride on the wings of daemons.

Then
the silence booms out ,shouts out to a waiting crowd,quite quietly
as if another decibel would bring the chaos back from hell,
and the people crawl like wounded ants
with feelers outstretched, looking for their habitats and listen to the
growls from dogs and smiles from Cheshire cats and budgies wearing pork pie hats
the world goes quite insane every time a hurricane
comes storming through
I think it’s time to move away somewhere,say like
Kansas.

copyright © John Smallshaw all rights reserved
Advertisements