When She’s Angry

She was angry, I saw that immediately. She scowled at me so familiarly.

And I had to hold back my smile, I don’t want to piss her off more. But since we’ve been friends for a while I know what a treat I’m in for.

She’s so beautiful when she’s angry.

I start to ask her how her day was, but she cut me off like she always does and the tirade begins:

“I’m just pissed off because the whole day I’ve been out here looking so pretty and it’s like no one notices, you ungrateful city. Spewing your nauseating toxic gas only to get where you’re going just slightly faster. I mean there was this one girl whose life is a disaster and even she flipped me off when my cloud moved on past her! The nerve! Times like these make me wish for sangria.”

I nod, she’s more beautiful as she gets angrier.

I’m used to her rants, I quite often enjoy them, she’s just so enchanting, and in need of my joy sometimes. I don’t mind giving it, for her it is free. ‘Cause though others may miss it, I always see how she selflessly soaks us with life energy and keeps everything under her how it should be. She’s the real MVP, and I always let her know it. Letting her blow off her steam is the best way to show it.

She’s so beautiful when she’s angry, I can’t resist that red face. The sky and I? We’re an unusual case.