Franklinesque Experiments

Summer thunder wakes me
an hour before my alarm--
vibrations through the bedsprings;
flashes through the blinds.

It makes me feel much smaller
in a world that's grown complex.
I think of what my mother said
so many times in grade school days:
"It's the sound of angels bowling."
A crash comes like a strike.

She almost had it right
though it isn't fair to blame her.
It's coming from the Heavens
but not balls and pins and laughter.
It's the sound of angry gods
who are fighting for our souls.
Somewhere there's a kid in me
who's hoping for a win.

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