blows

we drove, tonight
over torn metal, over
signs blown from
their moorings
pieces of billboards
strewn upon the road

we drank until i forgot reticence,
not
that i have much of it
in the first place

after we left, and
the winds died down, we returned
home and freed the cats from
the kitchen

watched them roam the wet streets,
give up and come back licking
wet paws and complaining

i am grateful
not
for pets or the peace
after the rain or
the puddles’ eventual
acceptance
of the grass

but for people to whom
i can tell my stories, and
when i am finished, they

don’t gape at me, they
get it