a dime on the coffee bar tile
floor to pick up, orange
traffic cones inverted
in the sidewalk to ponder. It’s a sign
not to fall
into warning funnels before predictions
of tornado sirens blare over the radio. The handsome
shop keeper who owns that caché tells me
his beautiful dog sleeps
behind the snuff
bottle case. I notice him the way I notice him
so many evenings passing each other by. I go
unnoticed. Lightning inspires
a gray afternoon sky. These things—take
note. A tornado
warning gets canceled—
but what’s that sound?
2 thoughts on “It Turns On”
Another mysterious and captivating poem! I like the hints of disturbance under the ordinariness of daily life – especially in the closing lines with their fine balance.
Thanks John. Weather can be a great muse.