I fell in love one stormy summer
with a girl whose name
I don’t remember. We rode bikes
in zig-zags as she sang
jeepers creepers where’d you get those weepers…
I thought I would die.
In a lightning storm copperheads bushel
under our porch. We listen
with the ears of deranged bats
for the static before the crash.
We listen all the time
for invisibles, an owl swooping,
demons coiled in the bedsprings.
In a lightning storm we rode,
stopping only to listen
for the electric pulse
that made the wet tar kneel.
From our Fall 2010 Issue