Sequential gusts smash the porch
like desperate, invisible soldiers breaking against bulwarks
with persistent, insufficient shoulders of air.
Between surging assaults,
sudden stillness promises quiet peace,
then ragged treetop whispers
escalate to window rattling howl
and beyond reason to mindless roar.
Determined, unseen waves break again against walls
with door slamming boom.
Banshee whistles disappointment
along resisting eaves.
Should winds continue, as stories say rains once did,
40 days and 40 nights without rest,
survivors, sleep deprived
by noise and barometric instability,
will have gone mad
The cat pays small attention,
though she seems reluctant to de-lap,
glass needle claws slightly hook, like burs of dock,
into worn folds of this threadbare robe.
Tomorrow and the next day,
downed branches dragged
and blown leaves raked to curbside pickup,
cat and lap shall again embrace to dream
of tall prairie, errant mice, sunlit shadows
and gentler, more obedient skies.
© 2010 Chrome Poet