by Grant Sowels
The darkest night is defined by the sharpest light.
Amidst the capricious Maryland climate
On a highway shrouded by cumulonimbus and confusion,
These thunderheads assert themselves more like warheads
And the light show that commemorates the birth of a nation
Is overshadowed by the death of a father.
The weapon of Zeus claims a Titan
And remains as triggering for me as any epileptic.
While careening away from the road and reality,
My memory seizes this moment like a seatbelt.
Love, fear, and direction are indeterminate
Not unlike the driver’s formally dashing features.
Now as the gods of Thunder and Creation continue their concerto
I find myself forever indifferent to its finale