The numerous reports had grown more than grotesque
As meteorologists droned on from their desk.
There were winds that would drive the storm ahead,
With towns and roadways to be left for dead.
The news was devoted to dire predictions
With hurricane cones and other depictions
Foretelling events and calamities
Like flooded homes and fallen trees.
They provided portrayals of people as they fled,
Not knowing which wild disasters lay ahead.
Storm surges, wind gusts and heavy rains,
Loomed in the visions in their dark brains.
My sister reached out wondering whether
We’d been offered protection from all this weather
When of a tornado they issued a warning,
She was sure we’d be homeless the very next morning.
Ah, but we were granted much good fortune
Blessing and mercy were both in our portion.
The following morning brought nothing grotesque—
Just a few gusts of wind I’d call Chicago-esque.
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