Rough weather

I think it was that day I caught you laughing
in the corner of my eye as I punched angrily
at the heavy bag, unleashing my fury into
something safe, something intentional.
You, arms crossed, leaning and amused
by my clumsiness and bulk attempts
to grow muscle, to dump the dumps,
to gather strength for a storm I didn’t yet expect.
(Although I think now I must have smelled it in the wind.)
It was a light-ening strike, the crackle of it
shooting through my muscles and bones,
setting my teeth and soul on edge.
Yes, I’m certain now – I still feel the shock –
that was the day our bridge caught fire,
though it would smolder yet awhile before
bursting into flames for all to see.

What do you think?

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