Weathering

Image 

When the storm comes in

a bird sits on a limb in the 

suddenly solidly still 

 

humid air. I watch 

weather radar, listening 

to a child scream nearby–

is it joy or fear?

 

I raise a glass of ale

brought to me 

all the way from London.

 

I read the storm 

warnings with interest, 

large hail; damaging winds . . .

 

Is this another storm

that I will weather?

Sometimes yes; 

sometimes no; 

prognosis: probable.

 

I raise a glass of ale

all the way from London.

 

It’s always storming somewhere.

There’s always a glass 

of ale somewhere.

 

And the screaming.

And the screaming.

 

Weathering

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