Changes in atmospheric pressures
drive the clouds west
and the light of the estranged Sun
reveals the damage
left by an errant
summer storm.
Broken fences,
felled trees,
frayed nerves
and you.
A world
now bright and hot,
becomes humid.
Sweaty, sticky bodies
fix the neighbor’s roof.
Replacing missing shingles.
Each unable, or unwilling
to meet each other’s gaze.
The storm has broken more
than fauna and fixtures.
We got off pretty light.
No damage to the house
and I only had to take down
that little
shallow-rooted one,
but all I can see
are the broken fences,
felled trees,
frayed nerves
and you.
The flooding
stayed localized.
Frantic and bitter men
swarmed over the hardware stores
like picnic ants.
Frantic to prepare
for what had already happened.
They stood in line
waiting to pay
for new sump pumps
and lengths of pipe,
guilty and shamed.
These were the lucky ones.
An hour west,
a whole town is underwater
and another cut off,
when the highway washed away.
Those people know real hardship.
Somehow,
in the midst of it all,
my home is intact and dry.
We have food
and plenty of fresh water.
The fear and the guilt
and the panic,
blew over us.
I am at peace
and as I look around
I can see,
broken fences
that can be mended,
felled trees
that can be cleared,
frayed nerves
that can be soothed
and you;
the reason I am prepared
for the storm.
HG – 2016
