Fiona’s Toll

Across our little island,

The wind rises and the leaves fall.

Trees dance in their tapping shoes,

Roots sighing to the storm’s call.

Corn fields flatten.

Apple orchards tumble.

Barns and silos bow

To the hurricane’s rumble.

Shingles shake.

Windows break.

A roof flies by

In the cyclone’s wake.

Power lines snap—

Poles crack—

Live wires lash out;

The city goes black.

All we can do is

Wait.

Wait.

Wait…