I learned the myth of the mound was blowing away
from the TV's urgent plea.
Humidity transformed into a sickly, green hue.
I need to see what is coming, but the cedars block the view.
The rapidly increasing darkness and howl means the monster broke free.
Sirens rise to take a stand, join the fray.
Mom's at the store, dad's day at the Capitol just began.
Alone. . . across the street to join the neighbors downstairs.
Inflow yanks at my feet, begging me to slip, and my eyes have to know.
Looking backward, I keep moving forward...it follows...I might be too slow!
Bathed in different light -- the dying sun, exploding blue arcs, headlights in the air.
The door latches, then leaves, along with everything else of where I just ran.
Tracks down the middle of the street.
But the Monon doesn't run them anymore.
Miles pass mutely by on the way to Monticello.
Hoping some of my questions are lost on the way home.
Your signature was recognized by men much smarter than me.
But their rate of concentration lapses.
Replaced by apprehension, realizing what, if not sure when.
But not long...as your fuel breezes past their skyward gaze,
as it tracks down the middle of the street.
I see the black sky boil over and spill to the ground.
And it tracks down the middle of the street...taking aim on all I know.
The walls are giving up, but instruments persevere.
Pressure and mercy rapidly fade in equal measure.
Accounting for what is no longer.
Trying to remember all I know, now gone.
Disbelief tunnels my vision.
And it tracks down the middle of the street.
