rolling in thunder


here among these low rolling hills
rural kentucky and the jersey chickens
cluck, cluck, cluck happy for a handful of clover
rain wet on the green grass
billowing clouds loll across the sky
antithesis to dante’s roiling smoke
and distant the thunder as we
lay ourselves down for a brief respite
smile like children after we take our pleasure
knowing later we shall sip sweet tea
and southern shine from mason jars
while the sting of barbeque resonates
and the smell of fried chicken fades
along with afternoon thunder
my hand in yours, eyes bright

David M Pitchford
3 April 2012

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