The storM (8/12/93)

The sky is clear
except for a cloud or two.
A slight breeze passes by
cooling the sweat forming on my brow and upper lip.
Looking over the pavement,
images of pools, those reflections of heat,
appear in the distance
The cars seem taller as they blend with the air.
Waves of heat form and float in midair.

The air is wet.

As I rub my fingers together, a friction builds from the
slick sweat, making snapping all too easy.
The air is so dense; I am mugged by it, as if walking by a
not so deserted alley.
I must wade through this atmosphere.

Above, the sun shines brightly,
blinding my essence.

The birds chirp, fully aware of the rolling doom that can’t be
The sky splits itself in two and silence is upon us.

after awhile,
there is a roar from above.

Grumble, Grumble. . .
then silence;
The silence of the dead
(or about to die).

The air has a heaviness to it like the sky pushing me into the ground.
Gray clouds loom overhead,
slowly closing in on their prey.

There is no escape!
Flash. . .
“One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Missi–”
There it is, the noxious smell of ozone permeating the air.
Crackle, crackle, pop
Closer the doom approaches
“One Mississippi, two Missi–”
The loud, clamorous noise awakens my inner self that was asleep.
Looking up,
I notice the most remarkable violet sky.
bouncing bolts jump from cloud to cloud.
My hair stands on end.
“One M–”
The storm is on us,
but there is still no sign of the rain. The rain that always comes with the storm.
I know it is coming;
(After too long.)
Plink, plunk
splat, splink
there it is.
The rain comes down in sheets
in a nonstop barrage of fury.
Water and Wind
pelted by the onslaught;
instantly drenched.
The water is cold but the gale is warm;
almost hot.
then it is over as quickly as it came.
“One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi, Five Mississ–”