Thunder

How I much prefer the slow, rumbling thunder,
of a storm that is in no hurry to arrive,

that wants to give us fair warning to brace ourselves
for the wind and rain that will come our way,

much prefer the slow rumble in the distance,
angels let loose in the ten-pin bowling alley,

we give him a year to live, the doctors say
we’ll cut out that tumour,
we’ll mop up with chemo,

a series of body blows,
where the bloodied boxer
gets up time and time again
for more punishment,

and the onlookers
look on
helplessly,
hopefully
but the odds are against him,

rolling thunder,

prefer
(like preferring to be mauled by a vicious dog rather than a lion),

prefer it to the ear-splitting

CRACK

of thunder,
arriving
straight after
lightning,
a slither
of a moment
between them,

our house is hit
out of the black,
when we thought
we were safe
in bed,

when we thought life
was going pretty well,

CRACK

the news from the blue,
the knock on the door,
the police officers
with shifting feet,

CRACK

the news which
like a steel rod
breaks our legs,
and we slump
to the ground,
collapsing
in shock,

CRACK

the news which
readjusts the earth
beneath our feet,
the landscape changed
forever,

CRACK

the lightning
hits the house

the clock flies
across the room

the clock
stops.

_________________________________________

Note: This is a repost of a poem I wrote ages ago.