The knit sheets we grabbed in the dark annoyed,
our flannels would slide in woven linens.
Cascading limbs threatened the bed upstairs
so with four blankets below, three above,
we lay with cats by the washer/dryer.
Not merely sleepless, for 10 hours we stared
under the hurricane in slow motion:
Crack crack crackle groan — pause — thud,
and that only meant some bough missed the house.
Six times, or was it eight, giant branches
struck — nothing silent in this silence.
At daybreak we roamed up and down, pane to pane,
seeing others’ damage, guessing at ours.
This was no Katrina, but still but still
a perfect storm of day-long rain at 34
then trees and lands seize up at 26.
Alert though red-eyed, shivering though clothed,
we chose foods, the house a walk-in Sub-Zero.
Which? Rent a room, or chance another night.
Copyright 2009 Ben S. Pollock
