thunderstorms that have
(so far) managed to
avoid north central
texas (where i live,
anyway) try to
move in.  they gather,
plotting and planning
their war strategy.

spidery fingers
of lightning stroke the
turbulent, stygian
clouds.  a tremendous
drumroll of thunder
announces that the
battle has begun.
warriors attack.

the walls of my home
tremble in fear; what
i thought was shelter
may become my grave.
lightning stabs down, in
a search and destroy
mission: and it has
its sites locked on me.

wind-driven rain and
hail tattoo against
suddenly fragile
walls; they seek to gain
entrance, or to make
me go mad with fear;
either way, i am
a storm casualty.

(C) karla dorman, 2003.