Evening News

When the kids are in their beds,

I sit on the porch and look

To where the gods are warring

Just over the horizon.

See their distant lightnings

Silent, scar the southern sky

Too far to be heard, but I

Feel a tremor pass beneath.

When the chill sets I turn

Back to book, and mug, and chair

To a house so deeply still

I can hear the children breathe.

But when I lie in bed at last

To surrender to the night

Lightning flickers on the wall

And the tremor follows it.