Trouble

 

ominous-clouds-bandw

 

I can hear trouble brewing

I can hear it in the leaves

I can hear it in the murmur

Of the apocalyptic bees

 

I can hear trouble brewing

I can hear it in the traffic

I can hear trouble brewing

I try not to panic

 

I can hear it in the boondocks

I can hear it in the city

Whatever it is it’s coming

It’s not going to be pretty

 

Now I hear it knocking

Insistently at the door

I pull down the shades

I’m not home anymore

 

But the postman’s shrill whistle

Warns me it is done

Whatever it is has found me

In the mailbox under the sun

9 thoughts on “Trouble

  1. Clever poem! I was sad when it ended, wondering what horrors could possibly be lurking in that mailbox. It’s sort of ironic that you referred to the bees as apocalyptic, because August-September is the time for wasps and hornets right now (they get in your face this time of year). I have nothing appropriate to say about those bringers of pain and stings, though. Let’s just say I’m lucky not to be allergic to them! 😛

    Liked by 1 person

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