Daddy does Thunder

I search memory 

or perhaps it finds me, 

from all the nooks and crannies  

of mere facts, today one stands out. 

 

My brother carrying tea, 

on a dark and stormy day, 

when sudden  lightning bolts 

the big pine tree just outside 

the cozy of our living room window, 

 

I am more frightened for him 

than the thunder peeling off 

the sky, rolling away like a big truck 

oiled with wheels of pounding rain. 

 

He drops the tray. 

Tea and milk spill along carpet. 

His face ashen from the startling light. 

The tree scalded so black, 

our pupils make pinholes 

prickled into dark sight, 

shocked with electric fright. 

 

My mother might scream, 

even at  scurrying mice.   

Once when the frying chips, caught alight, 

my brother rushed outside 

and tossed the wet tea towel across. 

He was the practical one. 

 

My father of the booming voice; 

My father of the sudden crack of palm 

on back of head, to call out brilliant stars 

from behind our eyes; was upstairs, 

still in bed, waiting to be served. 

 

DO NOT DISTURB the sleeping bear. 

Far better he was not here, 

“Tell him later mother.”  

From His dropped tea, 

shield my brother.