I haven’t been in trouble in a long time, but I — like all of us, I’m sure — remember the fear of being totally helpless in the aftermath, when all you can do is sit around and wait. I wanted to write a poem about that feeling of complete agony.

I’m curious to know how old you think “he” is. I originally wrote this thinking this was a boy, waiting for his parents to get home, but maybe it’s someone much older, who’s also aware of the damage after the fact, and awaiting someone much worse than his parents.

Big Trouble

All he can do is sit and wait
and stare–
the damage irreversible,
irreparable.

I swear
it all happened in a moment,
he thinks.

A flash of lightning
shoots down, splitting
the neighbor’s tree:

an omen;
a black streak down the trunk–
it’ll live,
but it’ll wish it hadn’t.

They’ll be home soon,
and when they see
what he’s done,
he’ll wish he hadn’t too.

Submissions

If you’re interested in submitting your own poetry for the Winter ’18 Issue of Come and Go Literary, please see my submission guidelines for more details.