The day of the hail 24/06

On the day of the hail, I sat in a haze of smoke.
As ice beads showered
Down.
Not to be challenged,
My nicotine hit faster home-
The obvious mess felt cold and shrill;
Like shrapnels at my feet.
While possums cower,
And squirrels hid,
My garden gnomes braved and stared,
Waiting for their paint to brush off.
I watched the billowing trees,
And ground that could no longer bear this assault.
This left me puzzled and strange-
That though longing for the warmth to soothe me
It would almost be
How the hail’s cold would better suit me.

The day of hail suddenly left,
In the same way that it came.
Soon it was a mere trickle of rain;
As though there was one power struggle,
And the rain-maker lost.