Ha Ha Ha Thump

Amorak Huey

We’re finding our way south along this Midwestern interstate,

extravagant concrete river twisting through thunderheads —

we are the movie version of ourselves,

all simultaneous orgasm and fuzzy-dog jokes,

bravado in the face of mortality. Strobe-lit corn fields

stretch as far as we can see, clouds

dark as anvils unzip and singe the sky

of our marriage. This road trip

is nocturne, love poem, self-portrait,

rescue mission, last chance —

what if it’s the storm sustaining us?

Uncertainty is not as funny as it used to be.

What we’re looking for is form:

a sense of the proper order of things:

first lightning then thunder —

laughter to measure the silence between.

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