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 …
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