On Being Awakened at 4:29 am
by Wulf Losee

The first rolling shock, slap of a giant's hand,
lifts the building on a solid wave,
slams me awake.

Blue-flashes of exploding substations catch
flapping cupboard doors and falling books
in stop-motion strobes.

The shriek of car alarms chases
the ground wave across LA, voice of adrenaline
through my windows.

We crawled, then we stood and looked around,
seeing a world that had changed of its own will,
without our hands’ design.

Unlit lamp posts sway with aftershocks
that ripple down the avenues, as we sit on stoops
listening to radios.