The Waiting Storm

Eyes glued to the windows
holding our hands tight
preying for even the chance
for a few stray flurries.
hoping against hope
because every little flake
adds up.

Voices of reason combining somewhere
in the back of the head
mustering a prolonged mock:
“Might as well wait outside
in full snow regalia
(they say)
toting a sled
at the side
as though it were an elaborate standard
held high in the air
(Trumpet processional not far behind.)
for all the good it’ll do ya.”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s