Killer Domestic: ‘Lightning’

September 19, 2013

Note: This poem is part of a larger project entitled Killer Domestic, an examination of the unusual and unfounded perils of suburbia.

 

To the three-scoop cones that look like four

To old friendships suddenly becoming new

To car trips with Dad where I get to ride radio

And eat cookies and cream until I’m sugarsick

Hearing public radio spotlight old creaky bluesmen

And thinking how your steel dobro would chime

Like a masterclass and peel the paint off the dorm walls

As a stiff hurricane

Though tornado would be more geographically accurate

For the delta blood you got in you.

 

Phone calls now ain’t the real thing

As lightning’s no daylight despite how hard it tries

And the rural summer cone-and-dish stands now

Mean everything and nothing

Like voting or a empty notebook.

One, four, five is all we have, though separately

Like your black cherry vanilla

And my melting three-scoop cookie mess.

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