Monday, April 2, 2018

Spring Storm


Spring Storm

Spring Storm


by Jim Wayne Miller
He comes gusting out of the house, 
the screen door a thunderclap behind him. 
He moves like a black cloud
over the lawn and---stops.
A hand in his mind grabs
a purple crayon of anger
and messes the clean sky.
He sits on the steps, his eye drawing
a mustache on the face in the tree. 
As his weather clears, 
his rage dripping away, 
wisecracks and wonderment
spring up like dandelions.