Suddenly, a storm.
So much lightning
I could be in a plasma lamp.
Rain cuts my visibility;
I’m like an Antarctic icebreaker
surging through a fogbank.
Is that a cat’s tail descending,
or the embryo of a tornado?
At a point I start bargaining
—just let me get through this—
but I don’t have a God,
so no clue who I’m bargaining with.
Probably someone like Superman
or maybe Mr. Clean.
You know: an authority figure.
–Art by Barbara Florczyk