“Come, Ungentle Storm”


(March 10, 2018)

 

come, ungentle storm*,

stir my parched soul and dry soil:

electrify us!

 

  • (Not ’til hours later did I realize I had put my younger brother Storm in the path of a pun. The ungentle part is most true at times, though his quick, hard hug and welcome home kiss to this tired and bandaged – still! – battered non-old warrior when first he saw me after walking in the damaged front door: no one was home and I was tired and scared was more than ever I had expected but all I required and still treasure the moment’s intimacy amongst brothers.  But to my knowledge never has he considered hot-wiring my bed or The Throne or bathtub in recompense for the three days I sent him to hospital for observation for a suspected ruptured spleen.  Hey! He kicked me in the face when we were playing “softeners.” He got twenty free – uncontested – whacks before our Saturday afternoon (after Championship Wrestling From Florida with Gordon Solie) front-yard “wrassle.”  He came at me and I twisted and delivered an acute twisting punch just above the kidney as he tumbled past into the big camphor tree upside down and fully laid out like older brother Glenn’s favorite cartoon cat going bonelessly to the floor.  I had to do Storm’s paper route most of a week since he was declared hors d’ combat.  Family rule: you break your brother, you do his chores until he’s fixed.  But, that’s the thing about drought-busting storms: they bring fine memories.  And for lagniappe, Sunday we can expect more thunder, lighting and rain.  My Swiss chard will love me and the grape, pear and cherry tomatoes will love the ‘lectric charged ozone from the wire not-Faraday cages said to induce extra nitrogen to the soil.)

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