Lindsey Rogers

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Prelude To A Summer Storm

Sitting in an iron chair
I hear the waves lap
Against the dock.
I hear the locusts singing.

The mosquitoes bite
But I don’t care.
The wasps fly
And I tense.

The sky is darker,
The air more humid.
The sea is choppier
And just a hint of sun.

The breeze blows
Against my bare back.
The dog’s collar jingles
As it becomes restless.

Your skin is sticky
Your neck is hot.
Your bones are aching
And your soul cries out.

This is a prelude to a summer storm.

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