I was clearly busy
with something
“important.”
Dictating an email or text
or perhaps
a Tweet about
the beauty of grace.
Speaking
you interrupted.
Like a fast moving thunderstorm
irritation cast
dark clouds
over my face.
Sounding like distant thunder
I grumbled,
“why do you always
interrupt me
when you can
clearly see
I am talking?”
Meekly, you replied,
“Sorry,”
as your bright smile
was replaced by
a gray haze
pregnant with shame.
It is no wonder
you dislike storms.
Jason Kanz 