one fearless husband and you --
huddled in the concrete basement
taking refuge on the fold-out couch
the one that smells like neglect
the one that feels like a rock quarry
the one that you can't believe
you've allowed guests to sleep on
or at least try to sleep on
you now know that it is not easy
especially when the wind outside
is trying to crush your house
like a Coors can on a frat boy's head
You've never been a beer drinker
and yet for some strange reason
you begin to crave one now
but don't dare go upstairs
for fear of falling trees
and exploding windows
like you witnessed on the local news
just before the power went out
Of course, without electricity
the beer is probably warm by now
and warm beer is not good anytime
much less at a time like this
when the end feels so near
besides, you would never choose
a pale summer ale for your last drink
before your darling red cottage
was carried off into the murky grey
You would choose a Wildwood cream soda
the kind you could only get
from the magnet-covered fridge
in the tiny yellow and brown kitchen
at your Nana and Papa's house
the kind with the bright sky blue can
covered with vibrant green trees
friendly upright pines
not the broken and hurled maples
thrown like javelins by an angry Irene
And suddenly, having chosen a last drink
that could only be obtained
if you were to travel across the country
to sleepy Highland, Indiana
and then across time to the early eighties,
you begin to feel calmly confident
that you will survive this storm after all
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