Electric white,
light floods the sky
a strike of lightening attacks
cool sand twice
a drizzle of rain
falls in a pitter-patter way
the rhythm of two heartbeats
sounds as if it
pulses with the warning
of the tornado’s drum

Blond hair like a flash
of moonlight against
the grey sky
‘A storm’s a’ coming deary’ says the old man next door
her blue eyes never leave the ground
‘I’ve got to find my dolly, Sir.’

The morning after; a photographer
in dirty kakis and old Tom’s
finds his way to the heart of the damage
forever captures a piece of straw
that has cut straight through a metal telephone pole
the dirty swamp has washed ashore
a flash of yellow, the snap of the shutter
he bends to examine the stark colors
of red stained dirt, silver metal, blond hair
and a girl clutching onto her dolly


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