A storm is bustling at 5AM,
the first day you wake up unemployed.
You make yourself some coffee, as always,
You whip up some breakfast, as always,
But that is it.
You read a book,
You drove your car,
You cleaned that closet you’ve been meaning to get to,
And the storm became stronger.
Day 2:
You wake up at 6.
Your hair is a mess,
but that’s okay.
You take a shower and have your coffee.
That is it.
You cleaned the attic,
Needed to pick up some things at the store,
Said hi to your in-laws,
And the storm grew louder.
Day 9:
You wake up at 7.
Your hair is a mess,
but that’s okay.
You do everyone’s laundry,
and stare at your phone.
You sat on the couch,
Looked at the wall,
Felt the storm,
And it picked up wind.
Day 17:
It’s a Friday.
No matter, up at noon.
The sun is still up.
The wind is dancing.
You think you hear a thunder clap.
You paced the house.
You called old friends,
But they were all at work.
A drop of rain hit your cheek.
Day 35:
They tell you it is okay
To receive unemployment,
But they only give you 400 dollars a week.
It’s not enough
To subdue the storm.
Judgement asks you how you are doing.
The thunder roars.
She can’t hear the answer.
It’s pouring.
Day 36:
You wake up at 5, as always.
You look for jobs on your computer.
At 7, you go to the store.
It’s too far away,
But you purchase Christmas presents.
You come home to find Judgment sitting at the counter.
“You’re wasting money,” she says.
No matter,
“You’re a disrespectful bitch,” you reply.
Day 36, night:
Your partner comes home.
“How was your day?” he asks,
Over a sip of whiskey.
You tell him everything as the rain
Soaks your entire house.
He is the Lightning.
He downs another 5 beers
before he “fixes” the problem.
Silence.
The snow begins to fall.
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Photo by Josep Castells on Unsplash