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Neighboring Storms


Dark clouds are gathering.  The trick knee aches.

The hackles itch.  She's breezed in drunk again,

Precipitating fears of other men.

Doors slam.  A thunderclap of dishes shakes


The wall.  And when the storm outside surmounts

Their rain of insults and their muffled threats,

The downpour eaves drops on their epithets,

The wind delivers blow by blow accounts—


Until it all blows over and sachets

Of honeysuckle scent the morning air.

They chirp like birds, and all is peaceful there.

But me?  I'm rattled.  I scan the sky for days.


Greg Williamson



From The Silent Partner, Story Line Press,

© 1994.  Reprinted by permission of the author
and Story Line Press, Ashland, Oregon.



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