Peter Johnson
Poets Unlimited
Published in
2 min readNov 14, 2018

--

A RETURNED FAVOR

I am in my sisters’ bedroom
I look out, towards the Western sky
Everywhere, are dark, nasty, Rumbling, clouds
They Obscure the sun as darkness comes down

Somewhere a radio plays
I hear a voice like HG Wells on Halloween,
Reporting the horrific ending awaiting us all
While other reporters hardly believe their eyes

This looks bad folks! Run for the hills! Seek any shelter you can!
Then one of my sisters cries
Dad! where is he? — -we remember he’s in the car
Hurry! We’ve got to get him!

We struggle to pull his 6’4” frame through the window
But, his 200 pound body will hardly budge
Then I see a wheelchair nearby
And my sisters cry again, Hurry! Before it’s too late!

At first, I can hardly hold his weight and must struggle to move him
While multiple tornados approach
Hurry! Hurry! my sisters scream again
And then I see that the wheelchair is his

Suddenly I know I can lift him!
And we are instantly overjoyed!
Now it’s easy, so I gently place him in it —
Feeling that he now, weighs no more than an average suitcase

Rapidly our happiness rises
And, we ecstatically shout!
We’re going to make it! We can make it! and we start to cry
When I wake up — not another soul is nearby

Peter W. Johnson — 11/14/2018

_

--

--