Old Storm
Old skiff, old gourd,
old knuckle mutt;
old pearl, old cloud of smoke.
Old mass, old storm,
old beehive swarm,
old peanut-go-for-broke.
I’ve skipped your stones,
I’ve picked your bones,
your rock has been my roll.
But I’m inclined
to break your bind
and rub my hooded eyes to find
Your grumblings gone,
brawn on the lawn,
and each whine dead on the line.
Hugo S. Simões comes from a small island along the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. He currently lives in Lisbon, Portugal. His poetry and prose have previously appeared in Southwest Review, Third Point Press, The Rio Grande Review, Across the Margin and Whistling Shade.