Egg-sized but not shaped
hail knocks a fright against the brick
façade. Almost a century standing,
the building won’t fall down
in this maelstrom. The cat yowls
and races across the small-spanned
apartment (rectangle not railroad) before tornado
sirens begin to howl. He knows.
Windows open or closed, ricochet bent or pressure
cooked, twister real or exaggerated—this shelter for survival
may not withstand submission’s ache.