Hurricane brings the beat, but we ain't dancing.

A storm down south pushes funky

air through every crack and wrinkle.

We cannot get naked enough

To vent the heat or cool our skin.

The clouds are clothing us. We wear

rain for a hat. The wooly-wet

a river-muddied Saint Bernard

who wants to be your best friend.

Aging Bachelors Argue about the Thermostat

Smell fresh rain in the dark of the evening.

Brother Heat said "Oh, alright. I'll give you the night,

Brother Rain replied "Damn right you will".

Ozone and minerals rise in the steam
air and stone vaporized by lightning,
and the matter laid to rest until morning.

Jumping the gun a little for Poetry Thursday this week. Re-working a Facebook posting, maybe some good will come of this eventually.