Before the Storm
Wind blows, the fuchsia
geraniums to the ground—
soiling the porch.
Unfazed, Cinnamon
curls up and falls asleep—
mockingbirds swoop low.
Grandpa leans up and
takes another sip of beer—
cleaning up can wait.
This poem is about:
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: