Think of Me

by Drayton Magill

 

The gale, it whips

At this stilted house I’m in

And tears the rails from the porch

The palms play limbo, their heads shot back

By the strength of the fearsome wind

 

And here in the dark

Of my powerless house

Where the silent air hangs heavy and wet

With no book left unread

And no beer left undrunk

And some Oscar Mayer ham

Floating in the slosh of a cooler

I sit with my bourbon,

Warm and neat,

Listening to the plywood on my windows

Flex and bow in the gusts

And the coconuts plummeting on the tin roof

Like little milk-laden bombs

 

It sounds like a train,

Everyone says

When a hurricane blows at your house

But to me, it’s more haunting

When the palm fronds slam together

Like a hundred clattering swords

And you hear your home, your life

Creak and moan under the winds

And the sight of the Gulf

Or a salty canal

Slowly consuming your lawn

It’s the false sense of peace,

And that fraudulent calm

As the eye slides over your town

And just when you feel at ease

That’s when it all starts again,

The winds, the rains, the trees thrown about

The waters surging up like the angry Scamander

And all the while I wonder

 

Faced with the feeling of being stuck

In a place you thought you loved

And realizing that it,

Now dark and hot and silent,

Filled with empty beers and no books left unread,

Offers you nothing but

The terror of being trapped and

A claustrophobic kind of depression

As the humid air draws salty sweat from every pore

And the world outside is blown to ruin

And you, up in Georgia,

Safe from it all...

Part of me hopes that this storm prevails

And drops this house to the ground

They’ll find me there

Alone in the rubble

Surrounded by my beer cans

And all these books

Which can distract me no further

And if you read about that--

About me in a paper--

“Florida man perishes in storm,

Accompanied by all that he drank

And all that he read,”

Would you pity me then?

Or would it simply evoke a strained sigh

And some strange sense of closure?

I know in my heart,

While these winds rip at my walls

And I guzzle my whiskey

And you’re safe and sound,

That you don’t think of me

But part of me, somewhere in here,

Longs to believe that you do

Drayton Magill is an English student living in Sautee, Georgia and studying at the University of North Georgia in Dahlonega. This is Drayton's first publication. 

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May 2018

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