Collateral damage

A Summer shower
hesitating
with high heat
and sweating you
with humidity
deciding
on the colour
of the day
at last
cuts loose
shivering you
with the thunder
and letting you know
all that matters
is the light
precisely when
it is dimmed

the storm
had been building
for a while
the clouds assembling
like warships
on the horizon

some silent speaking armada
challenging the light

and birds chatting to the wind
challenging
the breeze

and the breeze itself
whispering
against the trees
like a smoker
trying to quit

and like that miscellaneous smoker
worrying a fidget spinner
or poking gum
out of a blister pack
before and after
sliding the card
in and out of its sleeve

the collateral damage
of that virtuous act
quitting
even if
one cigarette
at a time
before pressing reset
and starting again
is not knowing
what to do
with your hands

so the Summer storm
starts
with the odd spit
sweeps you
like a stylist
with the finest
of mists
and then takes you
by surprise
not a lock
of hair
or a fumbled
handshake
but suddenly
and firmly
like an unexpected hug
mismatched
one side embracing
the other
not resisting
but folding
roughly
into a pose
that weighed more
than her size

at last
she wipes
the storm
off of her brow
and the birds come back
testing the wind
with a single trial chirp

and Summer
at last
is back
long enough
to draw out your breath
and tire you
now
with excitement
and afterwards
with the effort
to keep cool
and eventually
to sleep.