Prelude To The Storm Poem by Leslie Alexis

Golfers happily knock balls in the heat
The white of their clothes reflecting for miles,
I think they’re mad, to them it’s a treat,
They crave the Sahara, I, the river Niles.

Tanners bask in it to be less like ghosts,
Perverts parading flash theirs lens;
I care less for it - this heat is for toasts!
Before a stroke I rather the bends!

Weather meant for hell missed the mark,
I complain no more of winters’ warm;
When night comes fire burns, but it’s dark,
I fear it’s the prelude to the storm.


Copyright © 2009 Leslie Alexis