Storm Poem by Adrian Flett

A damp thrush still calls,
gutters drip then flow, roofs leak.
The oblivious storm climaxes,
rain patterns of parallel stripes
against dark green of ironwood,
A grey pinstriped suit, caught in the rain.

Verandahs glisten and shine
in returning light as the storm
moves to lash elsewhere
and annoy another thrush.
In soaked soil earthworms move,
food to satiate thrush's hunger.

Now you can hear each drop
as it strikes a leaf
after the excessive exuberance
of water, moments before.
Laughing doves emerge from under eaves
as gutters, turgid moments ago, drip now.

Drip, splutter and trickle impotently
no longer driven to ecstasy.
All rest from orgasmic efforts
while the matrix drips and sighs
in satisfaction, the interloper moves on
to other conquests and violations.

In the morning's post-coital freshness,
after the storm's ejaculatory climax,
the receptive matrix is damp dark soil
shaded by oaks, girded green.
Mist lifts in the gorge, eased out
by early sun, to curl and dissipate,
wisp by wisp.