I am a lamb in the storm

He laughs like Pacino, as I step over roots,

which flex out the ground like veins on a dick.

I am picking up sticks, wet from the storms,

we wander over street crossings, where 

only an hour before,  we met new neighbors,

fresh sweet potato string friends, emerged

from their homes. No electricity, dying battery,

we can only cling to each other in the heat.

We are family now; trauma thicker than blood.