The Brake Job by Holly Day

she makes excuses for the rain,
covers her ears at the first sign
of thunder, feels her haze of fog
as the sun, the world, fades away
she makes excuses for the storm,
buries her head beneath pillows,
pretends to be asleep, pretends
to be deaf to the crashing world
the banging outside in the yard
she waits, still quiet, still inside
cautious of the returning storm,
creeps outside so slow after noon
topples the beer can pyramids
piled high all over the driveway.

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