7.22.19

‘Twas but a matter of time
before the storm dropped
its bulging nuts on us.
Alas, this was merely the first
of a grand sequence
meant to keep us under.
Now, the only music is that
of thunder, and of the hair
bristling on the back of my neck.
Coerced into keeping
the water weight in check,
we break our lease on life
with a one two punch
before digressing down
a downy road. Isn’t that familiar?
The nearly once-a-month
madness we fall prey to,
letting its hair down for once,
the show off. Cry me
right back to the schoolyard,
before recess ends
indefinitely.

-r. miller

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