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This poem is taken from PN Review 176, Volume 33 Number 6, July - August 2007.

Two Poems Andrew Frolish

Hailstones in Texas
I mean this literally: the sky was green.
Green like the moss creeping its way through our lawn,
like the algae in the shallow pond by the back door.
Not the green of freshly mown grass,
but something darker and more substantial than that.

When we arrived at the ranch,
the dogs were deranged and howling,
running between the pellets of rain water
dancing out of harm's way
and shaking vigorously when they failed.
Overhead, the porch light swung
from side to side, throwing our shadows
this way and that.

We howled and danced our way to the veranda,
soaked and raining like human clouds.
...


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