A Thunderstorm Poem by Morgan Michaels

It rained last night, I could hear the thunder grind
And saw the lightning flash between the louvers of the blind
This early morning I went out to see the damage done
To find the storm was history- it simply done move on
Though I recalled the wind still and exactly how it whined
And saw the scraps of cloud it left behind.

It rained last night, the pans of every pot
Glistened with an inch or more of liquor, that's a lot-
Clean once more the terrace floor was swept of all debris
Each blossom shining brightly in its glowing greenery
And stood as still as flowers do when after-ing a storm
To re-begin their blowing as the day grew warm.

It rained last night, I can say it was fun
To see the purple poppies a-drip-drying in the sun
Plus all the bright convolvulus a-blaring' to the blue
And on the brink of every pink a drop of silvern dew
I lingered in my bathrobe and it wasn't cold at all
Patiently waiting for the other shoe to fall.

It rained last night, and the sparkling air
Was ionized or something- you could see ten miles or more
Clean past Yorkville down to midtown, clear
Then out slipped charcoal Quashie in his underwear
Below, like a giraffe from its dark forest lair
Silently and suddenly like shadows disappear.