The Ground Read, “Storm”
As I stood gazing flabbergasted
At the clean sound parking lot.
A dark circular black gate was
Constructed among the lucid
White, at times calming, concert.
And the Gate read, “Storm.”
Some man, some force, gathered the essence and the power
Of a horrific storm, crammed it into this compact opening and sealed it shut.
Why would we citizens need to keep a storm beneath us though.
In case of attack? Some marvelous Egyptian feat?
Why hold back this force of nature that is necessary?
Below, I thought, below me is a horrid force flowing under
Tiny pattering feet, every day, a maelstrom current flowing
Beneath a sheet of concert only wishing to wreck havoc
On some soothing Indonesian island village.
Oh, shit. I’m late for lunch, again.
- Alex Hawkins