Poem sunday

Thunder TreeI heard something likeA stray dog's low growlAnd went outside to check.There she was---8 feet up---- in a wretched treeWedged between a cachectic trunk And a scurvied, zig-zagged limb.Hey what ’s with that look on your face?I ’ve seen that look before:The bills are late.Dad didn ’t hear a word you said.The lovely girl across the barChatting up another guy.Passed over at work,Picked last, too short,Passing another whole day unseen,Passing the next unable to hide The things you want to keep inside.The feeling the world won ’t simply unfurlAnymore from within but simply hurtlesForward,clacking and whistling, runaway trainFrom somewhere around the bend.But the tracks seem overgrown with weeds--How can this be?as the whistles screamAnd the lights bear down ...You ’re frozen in time and place,The elders spoke of thine and fate,A deer trapped halfway across the interstate.Hey little girl, don't scowl like that.Hey now, sweet girl, you're only ten ….She says the boy she likesHas a crush on her own best friendAnd there ’s that low warbling rumble again,Of a train somewhere around the bend.Maybe it ’s only thunder.Those clouds are clumping up gray.Best come down from the fray,Trees are a bad place to get caughtWhen the lightning decides to strike.8/30/19

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - August 31, 2019 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs