The thunderhead
from thirty-thousand feet
crawls below us –

from the plane,
it appears lit
anvil-gray in twilight,

flickering yellow from within,
little bright feelers
frequently licking the ground.

From here, it resembles
a rolling electric toy,
the old kind, with the

sparking friction engine.
We admire its construction
and grace from above,

while below,
microscopic figures
run for cover on the ground.


[Honorable Mention, ByLine Magazine poetry contest, September 2001.]

10/09/2001

Posted on 10/09/2001
Copyright © 2025 Bruce W Niedt