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7
The drumbeat of rhythmic thunder
echoing, filling empty spaces of the sky
as trees dance to the stormy winds and
the baritone sounds of rain tapping
with strange symphonic tranquility...
In the womb of the room, the only light
is that which the fading sun left peeping
through the blades of crack shades as
overhead came a rumbling as if a cosmic
train was rolling along celestial tracks…
For a moment, all is quiet; yet,
like buttocks, foliage of young trees
continued their African-like swaying…
Then suddenly…on beat…everything
stops and all that’s heard is the beating
of an old aroused heart...
House lights come back on; the sun
peeps back out and the TV screen is
flooded with a rolling Weather Alert
followed by congressional winter
droppings of a former POTUS
waiting to match it all…
