Life With Horace

poetry & essays


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aftermath

in the end the day
brought almost nothing
waiting for the thrash of winter’s fist
to stop us cold
a flick of indecisive wrist
arrived instead
a shadow of much bigger kin
spewing this and that
a weaving mincing minuet
danced by a drunken storm
that in the end
picked up its skirts
and ran away to sea
shouting gaily
flipping off
the solemn
weather seers

_____________________________
a bit of tongue in cheek this morning. we got off easy yesterday during a noreaster that could have been much worse.