Poem by Mo Fitzakerly
THUNDER
At the first crack, I ran to the top of the
stairs, and shut all the doors; like
Chicken-Licken I thought the sky was
falling in. Because he was there, my father
came too, and while I rocked, locked
in a foetal pose, he sat beside me.
He talked of football-playing angels,
and of gods moving house, until
My fear sat like the cat on the fireside chair.