Still the Worst Job Ever

Still the Worst Job Ever How do I hold thee, let me count the ways. I hold thee trembling, beneath kitchen sinks crouched in the darkness of the brightest days guiding thy beam as his patience shrinks. I hold thee dulled by lightning’s fearsome flash shakily awaiting unseen anger tortured by the inevitable crash intrigued by the neediness of danger. I hold thee wide eyed in dirt-floored cellar your flame slow flickering on edge of sight dimming through the range of yellowed color draining the darkness from a darkened night. I hold thee, for my brothers all have fled I hold thee, not knowing what they dread. 11/13/2014 Submitted for - Sara Kendrick - Jobs – Poetry Contest