usadeepsouth.com
by Bonnie Bruton Horton
The wind whips the rain Horizontally across my yard. A sheet of white plastic Catches on a bush Transforming it into a Halloween monster. My dog stands at the open door And refuses to go outside. Smart dog. I drag him out by the collar. He refuses to perform He runs between my legs Knocking me into a puddle Of shockingly cold water Where I rapidly lose my cool. Drenched, I open the door. He runs in obediently, Without my even asking. He shakes water all over The rug, the courch, the floor, And, of course, me. When he is comfortably dry, He gives me a sideways look. And with amazing dignity, He walks over to the chair In front of the fire – And lifts his leg. |
IT'S A JOB
People become very quiet, waiting. The classroom is very peaceful; Something terrible is happening. We march downstairs In a mannerly fashion. Someone yells: Tornado – Hit the floor. Crying, shrieking, running Compound the chaos. Someone is tackled roughly Before he gets to the glass doors. Sudden blackout, boards splintering, Windows shattering, Pictures standing out from walls Contribute to the confusion. On the evening news, The young reporter in his new trench coat Enthusiastically interviews stunned people Who are standing where their homes used to be. He coaxes gruesome details out of families Who have lost their homes, cars, Maybe even loved ones As he pursues his career. Finally, he makes dire predictions Of more fierce weather on the way. Then, he turns to the camera crew And says elatedly, “That’s a wrap.” |
Bonnie Bruton Horton is an English professor at Delta State University in Cleveland, Mississippi. She is the proud grandmother of 4 gorgeous granddaughters.