Beast Echo

Days later, you hear
a far-off police siren,
or the wind whistling
past the drafty door
at the end of the hall,
and for a moment,
mistake it for the long
whine of the county
tornado siren. Even
if the sun is shining,
even if there’s not
a cloud in the blue sky,
it’s enough to make
your heart skip a beat,
like the beast has
long stopped roaring
but you can still hear
its echo in the air.

This poem © Gabriel Gadfly. Published April 30th, 2011.