17 March – Why me?

What is it that feels so personal about a surprise attack of hail,
like a well-aimed blow or a dose of anti-fan mail.
It usually falls with such violence, you hardly believe it’s not being thrown
with the one singular purpose of spoiling your plans alone.
Yesterday it pummelled my car on a winding country lane
and the crash of stone on metal drummed an almost deafening strain.
I surrendered and slowed my speed right down to a cautious, creeping crawl
but I could still barely see through its thumping, grumping squall.
I’ve resolved to be kinder to sleet, but I draw the line at hail,
I can find no goodness in it, I have tried to no avail.