Storm by James Taylor

I learned to lie low
when the dust flew,
was never prepared
unsure of how big it would be,
hid and fantasised about
whether my real father knew.
 
Fed my own rage,
at the same time
listened for tell-tale signs,
'Blast' and 'Damn',
tried to read between the lines
sounds indicating 'Danger Men'
not at work.
 
Heat and ominous silence,
the pause as doors
got ready to slam,
as the house held its breath,
heart beating faster losing
flakes of plaster, waiting
for the storm to move on.
 
Learned a good deal
about the vagaries of weather
in the Yorkshire tropics,
slowly the storm passed
no serious damage, except
my mother's on her knees.
Maybe the roof's leaking.

Comments   

0 #1 Linda Ashworth 2021-06-09 18:48
Very evocative.
Quote