Storm in Sanaa
A storm like a young dog
Tearing at the curtains
Breaking panes of glass
Leaking into the sitting room
Insisting and unceasing
Yelps and quiet barks
Loud thunderbolts now quiver, whimper
Hide under the table, running in a circle
Lights ‘come dark, electric spark
Your river, rumble, muck, and sand
You leave me with my dirty hands
I howl and whimper lost
