An Iowa Thunderstorm Poem by Richard D Remler

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Thunder
Like cannon blasts
Boom over miles of spring corn,
And sends the crow and the black bird
To flight.

The air is heavy,
And my shirt clings to my chest
As I set the shovel aside
And catch my breath.

Toward Audubon and Exira and Atlantic
The sky is dark
And lightning cuts swaths through the sky
Like a blade.
I can smell the moisture,
But all I taste is the salt
Of my own sweat.

And Tet barks.
Apprehensive, wagging his tail
And watching me
As if he's already ten minutes late
for supper,
And I'm to blame.

There is no wind.
Why isn't there any wind?
A thunderstorm in early May
Should have wind,
And I swallow and wipe sweat
From my forehead
With the sleeve of my shirt,
And Tet barks again.

I look at him,
My sternest,
Most strict
We're working, Tet,
Don't interrupt me look,
And the hound wags his bony tail
And his ears flop
And another peal of thunder
Cracks the silent Wednesday afternoon.

Silence again.

I look at my watch
And Tet moves expectantly.
The gray and white and darkening sky
Watches me and Tet,
And tosses a sprinkle my way,
And it beads on the windshield
Of my pickup truck
And stops just as suddenly.

Tet watches me,
Watches the shovel move from hand to hand,
Not sure what to do.

Silence, like January snow.

Then boom!

A loud cackle of thunder rattles the sky
And Tet lets out a whimper
And hides under the truck for safety
And it comes.
A few at first,
Small pellets of ice
Beating against my arms
And face and against the rusty paint
On my truck and lightning flashes,
And I drop the shovel
And duck into the truck for shelter
As the hail beats into the dry earth
And lays the fresh new corn
Onto its side.



Copyright © MMX Richard D. Remler