The Unholy Terror of Little Tom
THE UNHOLY TERROR OF LITTLE TOM
The bashing sounds of thunder echo in reverberation
to the electrifying bolts of lightning that illuminated
every single room from dark to light just seconds earlier.
Sheets of rabid rain torpedo upon a leaky roof.
Broken limbs of trees tossed away by raucous sheets of sleet
ram hard against the battered frame of the small cottage.
Little Tom holds close in a fetal position
immobilized in fear and bowed down as a non person
waiting stupefied quivering and frozen in spaceless
timeless obedience to all his emotions.
The vibrations of the shaken windows
push and pull in harmonic rhythms
accelerating into a persistent succession
of unrelenting pounding pistons
upon the naked wooden structure.
Little Tom awaits in terror for the moment
when the storm gates will crash in
allowing the blizzard to surge the void
and tear obliquely at his tender
weakened shivering flesh.
He ties to hide by pressing deeper into the blackness of the night.
But the sparks of the fireplace dancing in rapid cadence
against the wall reveal the shadow of his huddled form.
Wet and convulsing in unbecoming behavior
Little Tom yells out DADDY, DADDY!
.
His father, lays dormant and unconscious
in a drunken stupor passed out and vacant
on an unmade bed.
Worn and withered forlorn and terrified Little Tom
in one last whimper, cries himself to sleep
CAK 5-16-2013
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