Flash

The kid who lives in the corner house is welding. Coming up on eight o'clock, the sun is gone. The porch light makes the parked cars gleam. Showers of sparks burst and crackle and the night is filled with flashes that brighten the dark pine trees. Blue light, like the flicker of a giant television that a vast crowd could watch. There's nothing on but the scene of nocturnal trees, a dusty yard where cars are parked, a gaping, empty garage, and the wooden facade of a house where a kid is welding, but I could watch it for hours.

Then sudden darkness falls in mid-fizzle as the overloaded circuits put out the lights and the welding torch. "Damn!" rings out, and laughter from the kid's watching friend. A moment later the power is restored and the torch sparks again, and the crackling and flashing is like small bolts of lightning escaping captivity. The early autumn stars wheel above, but I pay no attention to them. The kid is welding and Orion goes unwatched.


( Sunday Verse )