flashing light shatters night’s ebony dome:
five hundred strikes per minute.
Multiply by sixty, equals
total strikes approximately.
Did the driver
vacate his seat
behind heaven’s wheel storm away leaving the strobe light
speed on high?
First time I’ve seen such a thing
in my ninety years, Gran swears, insisting that
the end is near.
Across the land tales float by on a flooded river of never, never
have I ever:
Such a striking sight. So blindingly bright.
A neon billboard,
stark against the night, feverishly blinking