Hurricanes and Hand Grenades


Nobody did anything about it.
Not that anybody really cared.

Come to think of it,
I’d never seen his face before.
He wasn’t shocked, as most would be,
but calm, serene.
Nothing to say, nothing unusual.
No glints, no glares.
No locked eyes, no stares.
He’d just gotten his paycheck,
he was out on the town.

There were no signs,
there never are.
Dogs smell hurricanes and hand grenades
comin’ from miles away.

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