Summer Stom Poem by Zachary Zuccaro

A clear sky during the summer storm,
nonsensical retribution
for a deed never performed
trade melancholy for sorrow,
happiness for pleasure.
Pitter-pat of raindrops
mimics a herd of zebras.

Seventeen roosters crow
to celebrate the rebirth of intuition.
An unscrambled puzzle consumed
with some scrambled eggs
sates the appetite of the giant
lounging in his armchair of mediocrity.
Fourteen sheep graze in green pastures,
a lone wolf lurks nearby.

Silence at the break of dawn.
A quiet hum at dusk
muffled thumping of distant machinery.

A slinking ghost between the shades
white memories drifting from the sky
the whisper of a breeze escapes through the cracks
pine cones bristle beneath the sun.

A blackbird perches on the bucket of drought
behind the watershed.

A soldier
with his bloody shirt, torn pants, and shoeless feet,
trudges through the snow,
two fingers playing absent-mindedly
with a brass button.
A cold piece of steel,
a rifle,
hangs limply from a shoulder.
A smile crosses the primate's lips,
a fresh chicken, apple pie, a loving face.