The old men argue whether we have monsoons Or if our afternoon thunderstorms are unworthy Of scientific labels, notations, or marks To be discussed on the six o’clock news
Each day at four I take my coffee outside To sit beneath the oak and take the air With a book, the Wordle, or an empty mind As thunderheads rise like monsters in the east
Fearsome clouds menace the sky-paling moon And breezes wind themselves up for the daily monsoon