Storm In A Teacup (Poetry)

The storm it stamped
across the hills
like a blind man in a fit
it rumbled, grumbled
swore in Greek
no word of sense in it
the rain punched down
as though the leaves
had given some just cause
for such an outburst
bullying
and breaking moisture laws
until it pooled and puddled
shallow lakes across the road
but still it niggled peevish
as though spitting on might goad
the shrugging trees to action
retaliate and strike
at clouds who stick black tongues out
just as sulky as you like

It was over in an hour
the weather’s tantrum done
the sky cleared its expression
and pretty soon the sun
had the morning laughing
the pavement’s tears mopped dry
and no one could remember
who had started it
                        or why