A free-verse poem about the building apprehension as a violent storm approaches. |
This Sunday late in December I am watching the Cowboys trying not to lose yet another game in their dismal 2015 season. My attention to the action on the football field keeps getting fragmented by the small box on the TV screen showing a line linking yellow and red pockets of mayhem steadily approaching from the west. A crawler at the bottom of the TV screen announces new warnings of deluges of rain, hail, flash flooding, high winds, and just now tornado watches and warnings. Slowly but relentlessly the storm system creeps toward Shreveport, promising to bring tumultuous interaction between the 80-degree warmth that blanketed our area throughout Christmas week with this wall of winter’s cold breath from the North. I wonder what dire consequences the storm front’s arrival might bring and whether I will still be concerned about the football game’s final score once the storm’s violent confrontation consumes our hometown. The impending arrival of the storm grows closer, yet closer, as apprehension and dread build toward their becoming barely bearable. Now rain begins to fall … Please check out my ten books: http://www.amazon.com/Jr.-Harry-E.-Gilleland/e/B004SVLY02/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 |