A Seemingly Normal Afternoon Poem by Floyd Crenshaw

the town fire alarm sounds.
there is an emergency somewhere.
someone needs the volunteer fire department.

i sit in plastic hands
on Satchmoe’s porch
staring up the
forest green,
shingle siding.

smoking,
absorbing,
soaking.

a roller coaster
writhing with banshees
high on adderall-laced
sno-cones.
a dull rhythm
heightened by fried senses.
The screams shrink,
the screams climb and
on the scariest part, near the end,
these banshees
higher than ever before,
these banshees
hold their spiraling note.
forever. just a moment.
their breath spent.

the sky still beautiful
no gray,
no ominous signs.
then
a seamless mesh
an airplane over head.
the buzz grates against
what idea of the world
i thought was right.
i think
shall i be poisoned by
pesticide or
run down
in a
bombing run.
were the frightening howls
of the siren warning
'there is
the possibility of
impending doom.'

i could
run for shelter
my hands over my head
determined to deter
v-two rockets and
Lufthansa bomb blankets.

but my head stays cool
the trip runs strong like
a low-altitude creek after
the first truly warm day of spring.
snow melting,
rushing downhill.
over-flowing,
one hell of a flood.

i have an idea for a calender.
from the ground to the sky
up the side of my house
for every season.