Clouds are coming,
A storm is on the way.
Wind, rain, who knows what else.
Maybe it will blow all these ill winds away,
Take the virus to another place,
Relieve the racial tensions,
Let us all begin to heal from both.
Wouldn’t that be something,
A calm after the storm,
A reckoning with how to live with the virus,
A realization of how to live together.
Tonight, I’ll sleep in the coldest room in the house,
Smiling and hoping to see clearly after the storm
Works some good magic…hopefully…