she #51, anvil cloud

bumper to bumper

on Highway 2

drafting in

the long weekend

slipstream shuffle

I got the wheel

gas, brake too

and those pedals

are beginning to wear out


she’s in the

passenger seat

on cruise control

her eyes roaming

the prairie skyway

“look at that cloud!”

she says

“yeah, it’s huge

it must be ten miles high”


“that’s an anvil cloud

and it looks nasty”

“yep,” I say

as I pass a semi

in the fast lane

doing ninety—

stabbing that stacked

cumulonimbus massed

ominous wall of gray


god particles rammed

hammer up a slammed

super summer storm cell

from the big angry anvil—

thunder claps spawn

lightning bolt wands

and the rain raps

our wiper slaps—

so we have to pull over


the shoulder stress

is comment-less

as we take in

the anvil power

its heavy shower

soon stops, then

just plops and

tiny drops—

’til it’s time to carry on


back in the shuffle

jockeying for

wet positions

“look at that rainbow!”

she says

“yeah, it’s huge

it must be ten miles high”

“I’d like to find the end

and stay there for awhile”


you know how there are

people that chase


she wants to chase


and I’d go

with her

to the


About troysherdahl

A blue-collar bohemian with a penchant for fine words and dirty jeans.
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