Storm Chaser

My husband is supine on our bed.

Head pillowed. Body taut

With legs slightly apart.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask him.

I think he may have hurt his back.

Or have sore feet.

Or have something on his mind that

Requires a hard mattress, and soft pillow

To give space for contemplation or remorse.

He looks at me surprised, turns 

And states, to the ceiling,

‘I am storm chasing.’

‘I am waiting for the storm.’

Yet again Alexa has deluded him

As she has been doing all week.

And with a younger mind than

His weather-beaten years, he lays expectant. 

Trusting in technology to free his dreams. 

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