Mineral Deposits

The storm breaks down in the front yard.
It looks like a beached whale without a beach.

It has Chinese characters tattooed
on its left fluke.

It grunts monosyllables that might be speech,
might be a binary code.

We debate whether to try to save it
and get it back up into the sky,

meanwhile its water drains over our garden,
lawn and the new sapling we planted.

Undecided, we hose it down thoroughly
as neighbors venture over to marvel.

See the little flickers of lightning
raise the hair on their arms, necks and heads.

Paul grabs jumper cables and opens the hood—
what we think is a hood, but may be a toothy maw.

Paul cleans crusty junk off the canines
and clips the red cable on, the black to the ground.

The storm starts right up on the first try.
It rises and speeds northeast over the mountains toward Kansas.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

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