The Thunder

the bookshop under the train calms me.
maybe it’s like falling asleep
as soon as the car or plane
starts moving
or like a baby in a stroller.
it blocks out just enough of the
annoying shit –
the buzzing the whistling the screeching –
it creates a humming of its own
beneath which I can hide
in my rumbling thoughts
as I ramble through my
overstimulated mind
I use the rolling grumble -
the thunks the clunks the clanks -
as a distraction
so I can
let the good stuff -
the why the how the so what
the if the perhaps the but
the maybe -
further scatter my knuckles
across this unresponsive
unimpressed page.

why do I write about the thunder?
I want to be the thunder.