In his lightning moments
he was a chaos wrangler beyond compare
and we would turn toward him
as any goat rodeo we’d created 
fell into order at his hands,

but always after
followed the thunder,
always, always.  
It’s the only time I can recall
when God

kinda looked downright benevolent
even though we (nominally) didn’t believe,
but Dad finally passing out and not finding us
was considered a bonafide miracle.
We’d run off with neck-bells chiming…

we’d stand up warily
from hiding places…we’d clutch the kinves
we’d learned to carry
and hope adrenaline
did the rest…

Well, he’s gone today.  Gone 
at last.  We stand around bleating,
expecting thunder that won’t come
unless we make it ourselves…
and oh, you’d best believe

we know how to make it ourselves.