On Wednesday,
One o’clock at-night
Is for sleeping
‘Til there’s a distant rumble
Then a white-sky FLASH!
Which silhouettes for an instant
Branches of Spring’ s bare trees
BOOM! OOM! oom!
Hurls from a faraway cannon
Between wheels of wood
Its black iron barrel, narrow at the front
Points upward
FLASH, then BOOM! again
And an invisible cannonball
Arcs high over the backyard
Reaching its highest point
Above my house
Where the projectile pierces a mammoth piñata
That’s not a piñata at all
But a giant, stuffed animal
A great, toy buffalo
Standing overhead in the black cloud
It’s woolly head facing west
Into the storm
From its underside
Between its black corner legs
Ice-pellet stuffing
Rains down at me
But is stopped by the thin roof
Pellets pop, pop, popping
Like kernels exploding
In a metal pot
‘Til there are no more
Just a trickle
Through the downspout
To the silence
Of the next dream
Jim's Writing 