The Oncoming Storm

The Oncoming Storm
Dan Jira
5/2/17

Three in the morning.
The threat of the oncoming storm
Haunts me as I stand and listen
To the rhythmic fwoosh of the windmills,
The generation of electricity
Drowns out my thoughts

The headphones on my head
Acting as nothing more than warmers
For my cold ears,
As I listen to the wind
Beating me up as I walk
And billowing my coattails behind me.

The darkness envelopes me
As I stand in the shadow of a streetlight
And raise the lighter to my mouth
As I try to fight the wind to light
Something I never thought
Would be hanging from my lips.

As I walk into the dorm
My face red and wet
The rain streaming down my cheeks
Crying tears my eyes refuse to produce
The halls are empty
As I walk to my door.

The taste of the cigarette
Stale upon my lips.
The same one that fell out of my fingers
That were too numb from the cold.
The smell my mother would kill me for
Reeks from my jacket.

I throw my keys on the desk
My overcoat on my bedpost,
Careful not to wake my roommate
As I try and breathe life back
Into my long lost fingers
And fall into my bed.