This is what I need to learn.
Walking tonight, well yesterday nite really,
The air outside was like
I’m 6, 7, 8, 9 and on my parent’s porch.
The thunderstorm is coming, but for now
The night is close, even with the breeze
That carrys the promise of violence.
Violent, but yet comforting.
Because I’m on the porch, watching,
Waiting for the unleashing. Expecting
Downpours that will brush under the
Eaves and touch me with their clean,
And now, to quote a favorite song by The Smiths , Frankly, Mr. Shankly, “I didn’t realize you wrote such bloody awful poetry.”
I promise not to do it too often. Really I do.