Lightning licks the sky
Its mouth roars a groan of approval
The dish: a star sprinkled pizza with a dash of the moon,
creamy clouds create the perfect five star appetizer
The light’s wetted tongue holds back it’s urge no longer
Saliva fizzles down to the earth
Falling on the faces that take each atmospheric firework show for granted
Above, the electric bolt bites
The thunder strikes like the dinner bell
Casting deep fried rain drops onto the already greasy ground
The people pay attention
They turn on their menus and ask the waitress for the dinner special
She replies: raindrop soup, cooled to 58 degrees,
shredded electricity, optional
Orders drown the cook, but he fills them all
For he is thankful for the taste of the sky
And gives back to those who notice
He replaces his knives’ shrill with the sound of a muffled blender
His youngest clients fall back into their beds and dream of innocents
For his repeat customers, dessert is on the house
Fumes from his cooked grass breath life into their deadened nostrils
A fireball paints hues of a dreamcoat over the landscape
Signaling the end of a bountiful dinner service
A receipt more colorful than the sun’s rays is presented to the earthlings
At its bottom the people give thanks with a pot of gold
The sky shakes eyes with his many guests as they depart into the wild indoors
In due time the storm will steal the sky again and give the human its treat:
Life force
- Kyle Arpke, June 8th, 2011
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