The windows have been rattling
in my nightmares for two months now.
The same distant thunderclaps begin
and I run headlong to the door,
fear jolting under my skin. "Come here
with me, let's go! Who's a good boy?"
He knows I'm scared and moans.
"The keys. Where are the keys?" In my
drawer. There's no time,
we're already 23 seconds into
the first quake, and
the ground's grumbling more viciously.
Pro-tip: the balcony is never
the right choice during an earthquake.
I take the stairs and feel the brittle
steps fissuring under my feet.
47 seconds passed, we might not make it.
Another pro-tip: stay away from statues,
my bruises never healed.
Now, the cacophony of maydays start,
before I stumble and
crack both knees and break both
arms and mash all ribs
and lose all teeth and
watch the world crumble into crushed
concrete and slit and dreams.
I wake up, drowned in cold sweat.
I know it was just a nightmare but I wait
for the aftershocks.
