doppler

everyone has their
sunrise smile, that
warm protective 
glow
but at pleasantries' end comes
the back of their head 
a silently shrieking 
squall 
that torments me
on clear blue days
seventy-two degrees and
empty
locked down in the 
cellar, survival rations 
of isolation and
pity

(im told storm chasers
already had plans)