Tornado Talk
John Grey

You shouldn’t remind the other
about tornadoes.
None of that, “What were you thinking
when the air turned green.”

Unless you want to hear about
the gray worm drilling downward, onward,
the dust spitting sideways,
rain corkscrewed up.

Unless you’re a sucker for how alone you felt
when death came barreling down
in its comic guise
of soaring barns, flying cows.

You shouldn’t say
“I could have been slammed into
a telephone pole”
or “a trailer might have
toppled into me.”

Because some honesty
requires just such a brutal hit,
a paralyzing, nameless weight.

Unless you really believe
that was a calmness afterwards
don’t bring up the subject of the weather.

Think of how much love
it takes sometimes,
to wet your finger,
test the air.

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