The second front is sweeping
down on us. Another summer storm
we hear. The air thickens.
On the ground, lights brighten
like frightened eyes. The wind
crawls through the grass on its belly.
From the west, fire sirens approach.
Wives take radios to the cellar.
In school, their children kneel
under desks. The old storm riders roar down:
the lies, the contradictions, the deadly
understatement. No one says remember: the men gone,
the women coming up into empty houses,
and the storm there still, waiting,
for the children.
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