The Storm

This poem was based on my experience of being caught in a severe hailstorm.

 

I could smell the storm before it arrived.
A mixture of warm moisture with rich earth.
The self-assured weatherman, with bronzed skin and bright eyes,
assured me that “Bright blue sunny skies will reign supreme today!
Certainly no chance of rain."
My keys jingle as they limply dangle from my palsied fingers.
That billowing cloud and the green eerie glow that accompanied it
was fast approaching and it did not bode well – I was sure.
Driving in heavy rain was never my strong point but come what may
I had to venture out regardless.
As I walk down the path, the first drops of rain tickle my face
as if laughing at my childish unfounded fear.
Easing my car out of the driveway, a low guttural growl of thunder shook my bones.
If only it would wait. I prayed.
Hopefully the onslaught of what I knew was coming would just be a mere infringement upon my excursion.
A sharp ping! A flash of a small unassuming white object confirm my worst fears.
In seconds, my humble car trembles under the ferocity of rage filled hail
that beats upon its blue skin with military precision.
Golf ball sized faces crash against the windscreen - their goal
is to shatter and destroy.
Reaching the curb, I slide down and huddle in my seat,
silently pleading that it will soon be over.
The cacophony of rata tat tat tat and the shrieking wind howls in my ears.
A blanket of white reduces my view. A world now ruled and consumed by ice.
Then – as soon as it had arrived – it vanished.

“Bright Blue Sunny Skies will reign supreme today!
Certainly no chance of rain.”

2 Comments

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