An odd sort of Poetry

Midwestern Lightning

I am from the Midwest.
I was made there.
I grew up there.
I often say that I hate it,
Everything about it,
But that’s not true.

I love the storms:
The hot summer rain,
The chaos erupting in the sky.

My mother used to tell me that the thunder was the angels bowling
-I always liked bowling-
And the lightning
That midwestern lightning that
Illuminated all the skies there ever were,
And put the sun to shame
Even in the dead of night.

What beautiful violence that was.

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