Folded and Put into a Can

When the storm comes roaring in,

you will have a flimsy umbrella

to protect you and keep you warm

and a rainbow

to measure your boredom

When the storm comes ripping in,

I will have a flashlight with no batteries

and a short candle,

but no matches

When the storm hits,

you will stay dry in your rage

and your words will guard

your door

I’ll be standing there, all alone,

When the storm unleashes its force,

in my undershirt,

holding an empty water bottle

When the storm comes

your beauty

will be most clever

and your words will climb trees

My pens will all run out of

sweet words and

my time will be folded up

and put into a can

Sandy Kinnee