Prelude to a Storm
How ironic – the storm starts just after
you leave hospital, going back to attending
to the petals in your small garden, and your
tiny Yorkshire Terrier, named Bramble.
Now a juicy storm slips over the radar,
exciting the newspapers, broadcasters
with eyes protruding from sockets,
as Philip Schofield comes out on air.
And you watch from the couch, life
every bit as dramatic as the recent past,
roofs swept from buildings; people killed
under rubble, threat of a new pandemic.
I struggle up the freezing street, blizzard
bringing me down, chased by well-aimed
raindrops, and remember the old adage
that everything could be so much worse.