Irene being a woman I worked with long time ago
She is my spotlight and the content of my show
However this is what you don’t know
Irene was a woman who had Cancer
When I think of her, it is as if it was yesterday
But I worked with Irene 32 years ago
Irene was my Boss as the Assistant Manager at Raven Press, a major publishing house
A company that got its name from “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe
Irene was the one that gave me opportunity
Her strength being my inspiration
Irene’s Cancer opened my eyes in valuing life
For me that is good advice
I will never forget Irene
A woman who was truly serene
I never ever saw Irene to ever be mean
I use the word opportunity strongly
Once when I applied for a job in the publishing house within the Promotion/Advertising Department
The Department needed a Clerk Typist and I took a typing test
Well I must confess
I was quite nervous when I took the keyboard test and anxiety set in
But Irene felt and believed in me and hired me on the spot
It was not a plot, but an opportunity in giving me a shot
Irene really left an impression on me
It’s a conversation about Irene for 32 years, but her spirit still lives within me
Irene I will never forget and I have no regrets.

The thumping and darkness in the bowels of Irene
sit lugubriously on the edge of serenity
the pounding and the tears through all these years
languishing in turpitude and solace from her knowledge
unceremoniously, recklessly and without feeling
while listening to her tongue lashing and
harshness of her venomous and thoughtless words
cracking like a whip, “do you think I’m an idiot”
Not once but twice while searching through black clouds
of disappointment and destitution … no rhyme…no reason.

All due to confusing north from south and east from west
reality from fantasy as we all feel the sound of her thunder
Irene crashes on and above the banks of New Haven,
Guilford, Fairfield and the Housatonic
lapping and licking at the shores while throwing
her magnificent weight in her favor, and the swells explode
the question, “how can she possibly know the children”
Even though downgraded and ebbing
the uneven strength and fortitude asks the question
and all my determination fades in the wind.

Trees weakened as we begin to dig out and explore
power lines and internet down, hampering communication
flooded streets and nervous bridges impeached
yet Irene serves notice with an ace of her own
dressed in her sheer-like vest and turquoise ring
her hazel eye filled with scorn and distain
while brightness and candor follow her path
with her feline temperament scratched and clawed
the tears begin to taper amidst her howling breath.
Irene begins to move northward stoically away from me.

I’m not a victim so I pick what remains of my heart
and begin to reattach my churning stomach
with the threads of her words of disbelief
bringing the force she was most capable of exerting
as the storm continues her long, unforgiven journey
hatred and disdain replaced by disinterest and apathy
as the breath disappears, the light becomes brighter
and Hurricane Irene decides to leave Connecticut
impact in place, on the broken bows of the sturdy trees
perhaps she was right, after all was said and done.