There’s a particular thrill in being the moving thing, the beast to send all others into shelters, the efficient, awesome torpedo doing what you’re meant to do.
A good work team is like a fire of wind, all the muscles of the engine burning three-hundred miles an hour.
In Kansas they call it a twister, a confluence of conditions that send everyone into the cellar listening to the cyclone rip up floorboards and tip over all the tables.
In Missouri it was a tornado and a basement. In an office it’s called innovation and disruption. And a time comes for climbing out of gullies and dusty bathtubs and diligently rebuilding the town. And then saying benediction for the dead.
Prompt: "write a poem that starts from a regional phrase, particularly one to describe a weather phenomenon."