Storm grumbled in from the South

With me dead center in its mouth,

It flashed and roared and hissed

Like it was more than just p*ssed.

I guess so, ‘cause it sent a shard

Of forked fire that blasted my yard,

Explosion of singed yellow-blue air,

A tall oak guide, spectacular flair,

Ushered electron stream tip to foot,

Offered sky-god a thirty-pound root.

Accepted the gift for brief life of light,

Ceremoniously dropped it from height,

Sacrificed tomato, squished quite good,

Then lay still, corpse smoldering wood,

Forty feet from gaping hole in my yard,

Sizzling, smoking and quite charred,

As chunky mud and sodden debris

Rained on deck and roof quite heartily.

Sky-god moved on, his offering burned,

Leaving new respect, lessons learned,

Electric circuit cooked quite hard,

A fifteen-foot trench blown in yard,

TV colors scrambled, no control,

Was temporary, reset console.

Daylight unveiled my reconnoiter,

Little damage, deck hosed water.

Storm washed the roof, got it clean,

Least it could do, being so mean.

Storms are special with electric air,

Violence, a roiling, churning affair.

I revel: “Cause for exhilaration!”

Lawn snickers: “Or obliteration!”