Daddy Tornado

With a bad leg
and a tornado wanderlust
he moves forward.

No pace is ever fast enough.
He loves to stomp circles
back on where he’s been

while moving ahead half-stepping,
spinning around
but getting on eventually.

If a random tree or his family falls
in the process, so be it.
Every step taken kills something,

after all — ask the ants and microbes,
or ask his kids.  Ask anyone who’s ever been fascinated
by a tornado —

they don’t mean to do all that damage
but they do it anyway.  After all, isn’t the point
to end up somewhere else all shiny with sweat? 

Daddy’s not home right now.
But he’s somewhere and I guess that’s impressive.
There’s no place like home for him.

Tags: poems, poetry, meditations