Eight PM, a tide of evening sounds presents themselves,
Tonight for me; vibrating through my open window,
As I sat waiting, looking often, trying to read my book.
The midsummer southwestern promised cooler breeze,
was blowing the brown curtains you picked-out and made me hang.
This time the wind was forecasting a wet night fast approaching my home.
Coming from the nearby fire station a siren blasted from the red rescue truck,
Its pitch also a warning too…"get out of the way we're coming,
get out of our way."
Coming up the green river valley cliffs a lonely whistle, could also be heard,
from the old sightseeing train warned everyone…’clear the tracks make way’.
Night coming, a storm and warnings…
the hard rain now beats the petals off the yellow peonies,
you planted by the gray front door.
Nine PM, everything is hurrying now;
the birds are all in their nest coving their chicks.
The bugs and insects have cleared the space
and found themselves refuge.
Everything is hurrying, except time and you darling.
Where can you be?
The TV news says, "a bridge across the river,
the one you must cross, has washed away."
“Five cars and trucks are being swept downstream
in the torrid cascade of flooding”.
You always wondered why I worry, tell you, “Be safe."
I look around my home and everywhere I see,
a special thing, you placed here for me.
So, I begin to pace looking for the cigarettes
I hid away from you a year ago.
My pipe just will not calm my despair.
Eleven PM,
I see a figure between the lighting flashes walking towards me,
my voice calling out, is drowned by roaring thunder
that shake even the mighty old trees.
Oh God, it is you.
Wearing what you called, “I will never wear this Hades yellow rain suit Thomas, I’d look like a school child."
Midnight, remember?
I put you in under the warm shower and then dried you off.
Thomas Kemp/poet/03/08/2016
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