Oh so appealing, toothsome weather reports,
offering glossy maps & quick soundbites of devastation
(sandwiched by celeb sightings and cute pets)
hand out sugar-coated, screen tested guilt free passes,
reassure us that the Storm is far away, can’t touch us
and that help is already on the way for those poor, poor people
who will soon experience boundless relief.
But the Storm is missing an eye
there are no pockets of comfort here
no grateful smiles, can-do attitudes or silver linings.
It warps and howls, shreds and conquers
a screaming wheel of fortune
blank blades spinning out to clutch
alone, loved, wealthy, ancient, afraid, corrupt, hopeful souls
all whitewashed in the face of timeless fury
In the end, we’re all victims of the storm
it’s just easier to see an eye
when it’s not looking our way.