Tornado Chaser

My son scans the sky for supercell storms

the way I once watched ladders of light for signs

of the Rapture. He waits for squall lines to form,

cumulonimbus clouds to grow, decay, violent

twists of air to tear the earth apart. He wants to

capture wall clouds on camera, chase tornadoes

like a small child tied to a kite, see sliced-through

schools, demolished malls, leveled libraries. Rows

of stamped flat bungalows, tipped over telephone

poles. Attracted to the aftermath, debris delights

him like birthdays once did, enchanted by blown

out windows, extinguished cities. Instability excites,

carnage charms. I lived in terror of sudden skyjack, driven

to Heaven. Accident’s child loves fact, needs nothing forgiven.