A tremor really.
Not a real earthquake.
5:37 in the morning
From far up the border near Canada.
3.1 magnitude, with ripples.
The instruments barely felt it here.
But the locals are already at the diner,
It is a wonder any of us survived.
I missed it. Sleeping my last few minutes of slumber,
blissfully in bed.
A habit I have, missing earthquakes
until the earth yaws open
and swallows me alive.
About this poem
We really did have an earthquake up here in the Northeast. A tiny little thing. The west coast would laugh at us for even talking about it. But here at my second chance diner, it is the main topic of conversation.
I really did sleep through it.
I tend to get blindsided a lot in my life.
From all that, this poem.