Monday Poem

Here we go with TFE's last minute challenge... The pic below is the one I used...



Us.

Grey gathers overhead.
the first drops, drip.
Our very own private hurricane.

Ravenous gales rush the kitchen
A twister kicks and smashes like a skinheaded yob
through our living room
The eye of the storm sits quietly on our bed.

I run for cover under a table,
but you dance, waltz, foxtrot, jive with the storm.
Exhausted, eventually, it leaves.
It always does.

And after, we pick up the pieces,
wooden splinters stabbing our palms
glass shards embedding in our knees
rats and stagnant filthy water squelch underfoot.

You smile and say its great
You feel alive
I nod, damp and sore.