The Eleventh Hour

August 28, 2011

As the wind beats against the doors
rattling my heart beats faster
against my chest

I turn on the news
is all that plagues my screen
and mind.

And I giggle every time
they say the storm
is “pounding”
an area.

I switch between the channels
to pick my poison
more fear

flash mobs.
hurricane streakers.
few words of wisdom

more fear
I settle on the Golden Girls.

I dare to embark from my bed.
I look outside
waiting for the worst
and see the wreckage

a houseplant overturned
some water on the ground.
The news outside still tells me
to keep inside.

We’re all blocked in
barricaded by her
Mother Nature losing her shit
and we’re all to blame.

We could have said
the dress flattered her shape
as opposed to just
“yeah looks good.”

We could have asked
how her day was
instead of just
leaving it at “hello.”

Could have should have
would have
but we didn’t.
And now we pay.

Doomed to the indoors
in my room singing
the Golden Girls theme
with my mother.

Irene is relentless
on the war path.

Hell hath no fury like a tropical storm
except for the anger felt
by my grandfather
unable to get his morning paper.


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