Another Named Storm
The eye of the storm was looking at me|
in anything but a genteel way.
The upcoming blow would rattle my cage,
seeking out the spots of decay.
The circular motion of misery in flight
zeroed in on the calm I was in.
Unshuttered and vulnerable was my countenance,
caught up in the dizzying spin.
Out in the wide open was a bad spot to be,
nothing to dampen the blast.
Hands over my ears and a lump in my throat,
may the onslaught be painless and fast.
A slight lean in the direction of the gale
might help to keep me upright.
The ire of my wife is in the midst of the storm,
this negative surge could last all night.
Submitted for Dream Girl's challenge 'in the midst of the storm'
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