A Kind of Temperament

by Maya Phillips

 

We're a stormy kind of people—
my father rained for days after his funeral; 

we each of us tempest our old-world rage.
In another age we'd have been gods, but here 

we are, in our mortgaged homes, rented apartments, 
in our leased cars, in our morning commutes. 

Here we are in our everyday
spite and sorrow, in our lifetimes of fury. 

All our sturm und drang and nothing
to show for it; we're human even on the worst days—

when it rains it pours and we're caught in it too.