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| Photo by Peggy Goetz |
The rain
pelts the window glass
like thousands of tiny fists
in impotent fury
The sound
does not soothe or
amuse me
as it did earlier when the rain
pinged upon car hoods
with the sloppy rhythm of popping corn
or
rat-a-tatted
like little bird feet tapdancing
on the roof
This storm
sounds serious
The wind
howls like a feral ghost dog
in the night
and sends my own dog,
a cocky Maltese,
under the bed quivering
Me,
I make a strong cup of tea
It's a teakettle kind of storm
The nagging beep
of the microwave just won't do
I want to listen
to the whistle, brave
and persistent
I hold
the china mug between my palms
It warms my hands
and wards off the demons.
submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Wednesday With Peggy
