Seeing Red

You're talking,
quite pleasantly,
when a chance remark
changes things.

The transformation is stark.

He's off,
fists clenched,
rage rising,
seeing red.

Thunder-faced.
There's no stopping him now.

He's a dark cloud.

Words pour from him.

You hear
'immigrants' 'government' 'diversity'
'snowflake' 'woke.'

You don't agree
but why beg to differ?
He'll not see your point of view.
He'll not hear you.

His lightning blinds him.
His thunder deafens him.

But, he is a storm
that will abate.

So,

rightly, or wrongly,
in sheltered silence,

you wait.