My father is the old Chevy wagon he’d put me in

on our way home from Sunday School

Golden, glimmering under a weary sun

The last of a long line of farmers

When I came into this world he called me Thunder

said I’d be a ‘booming presence’

I turned myself into a neutrino

which is the exact opposite of thunder

A non-threat, I tried not to bother the world

and the world did not react to me

any more than a brief inconvenience, like

a typo in an encyclopedia

We were left unaware—

lying dormant, a static, building up

steady, sacred, underneath the hood

of that old Chevy still in my blood

still purring in my veins

where I had stored his wish all along

Soon the loudest flash will come

careening o’er the skies

Soon will come the dredge of tears

to be swallowed up by the upholstery

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