On the day of the storm
My wife and I had travelled
Back from the coast
My wife had stolen
The Catcher in the Rye
From a railway bookshop
And was reading it on the train
When we arrived in our home town
The storm was at its height
So we sheltered for a while
Before breaking cover
We had not travelled more than a hundred yards
When a crack of lightning broke above us
Followed by the roar of a thunderclap
My wife immediately jumped into my arms
And in doing so let her Salinger book
Fall into a torrential puddle
She kissed my drenched face
As I assured her that the danger had passed