Hurricanes & Snowglobes Poem by Kewayne Wadley

There isn't a meteorologist alive that
can predict when she'll strike.
Though there isn't an alert or special
trail of clouds to follow,
I loved to shake her up and watch her
funnel.
Leaves, water, & debris littered
everywhere.
She was notorious for being in her own little world.
& I, at the mercy of all her happiness.
Crashing down,
Devouring everything in reach.
Although love is sometimes hard
& crossing the street during a hurricane
is next to impossible.
I shook her once more and watched her wreak havoc.
I shook her continuously until there was
no more water in the plastic bubble
and she welcomed me to her comfort zone.
Maybe the next time the meteorologist
Will get it right,
Maybe next time she won't leave so
Quick
That way I could shake her once more