Poem: My Wet Shack

It's wet out there boys and girls
yessirree!
That kind of day
where you nestle in your
prefab apartments
wallowing in the warmth
of a steaming oil furnace,
all snug and warm
in a pair of furry Jammies,
fresh from the dryer...

I should never have moved
to this Shack,
but it's too late now.
Two days with soaking blankets.
Fighting the wind with
hamer and nails,
tarps flapping in the wind.
I pray that the worst is over
- then it starts up again!
"Big storm coming in tonight"
the old black woman says to me.
"Another one?" I ask wearily.
"Yep, they'll be coming in strong all week, news says."
I'm not surprised.
I'll just have to fight the rain
while it's happening.

The dryers at the laundromat
seem suddenly quite underpriced,
as I thank God I have a few quarters
and worry about my wet shack.