Between Storms

Early evening, the sky tries an apologetic blue
Hopes to get us to forget its earlier self, that
Raging white, greying to black, tumbling with
Thunder, lightning, pouring rain, filling storm
Drains and intersections, gardens and cellars
Knee deep, and that wind that tore branches
And limbs down, uprooted hundred year old
Trees, pulled off roofs, becomes this breeze
Leading bees and butterflies back to business
Begins drying the mess it has made of the day.
It’s like the morning after for some old boozer
Trying to remember which of the twelve steps
Includes making amends, trying for compliments
As if summer wasn’t like this: recovery, then on
To relapse, there’s this, then the humidity rises,
Clouds pile up, and soon we’re back in it again

-- J. K. Durick