The crashing deafens, then sputters away.
Bravura segues into impotent dribbles.
Below, some sentient beings huddle.
A cat in profile, his two paws cushioned
In a curlicue of a tail.
Kaboom. Kaboom. Kaboom.
He returns to grooming, sheltered by a ceiling.
The sputters now fangless, he falls asleep.
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3 comments:
Ahh, to be a cat and to be able to sleep through the din of an overhead air show. I used to be able to do so, at least until July 1991, when the fear of missing the surgery beeper forever modified my sleep cycle.
Wide yawn, pink tongue/somnolence in the winter sun.
GR,
That accursed surgery rotation.
Anonymous,
Great haiku.
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