storm rages without,
woman rages within.

no meteorologist,
no man,
could have seen it coming,

blind to the greying clouds,
senseless to the burning-wire scent
of building fury.

it seems all blue-sky beauty,
a bearing akin
to cumulous tufts of vapour.

she is sunny and bright,
until fluffy clouds are ripped open
with shouting thunder and lightning strikes.

then man-meteorologist
is blind to the storm
no more.