Abated for now, the storm still hangs about
bruising the lower echelons of cloud.
Our bricky suburb cowers under it.

The wireless crackles off and on
as the weather forecast excludes us yet again.
Boredom and irritation seek a focus.

Laying aside my reading glasses, I watch
you rearrange (just so) vases along
the mantelshelf, your backside comely.

The argument awaits its moment.




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