Photo by Al_HikesAZ on Foter.com / CC BY-NC

They fell

I felt the tension of an oncoming storm
the electric sizzle gathering on the horizon
and the cloudless line of blue lying
my stoic inclination and my paperback Seneca
despite a strongly creative bent
seemed unlikely rain shields.

The voices in the wind which abridged
the Oxford weather men lagging
in their loafers and Izods and their pushup girlfriends
Ray-bans smartly greying cerulean
a Subaru stampede shuffling dust
in search of greener picnic spots.

The rains came
blown in like wizard’s whispers
and in the universal like Job’s declaration
on the wicked and the righteous
they fell.