Imperfect Storm
Though the thunder is deep enough
to rattle the stones of the castle
and the sky is whited out
for nearly minutes at a time,
none of the storm’s bolder strokes
ever seem to find the copper finials
set atop the parapets designed to conduct
the voltage down to the laboratory
below. As a result, the cold, stitched-
together dead thing lying on the slab
never receives the animating spark
it needs to kickstart its black heart.
Moreover, swollen with rain,
the clouds are so tumescently
dark, the full brilliance of the moon
never emerges, thus damping out
the dinner plans of one gypsy-slash-
part-time wolf, as well as complicating
the itinerary of a certain aristocratic
traveller, who, truth to tell, even
with his sophisticated animal radar,
is unable to navigate curtains of water.
And yet the next day, on the positive side,
damage appears to be limited,
although in the commodities market,
pitchfork futures suffer a downturn
the economy this side of the Carpathians
never really seems to recover from,
and half a world away in Hollywood
countless movie concepts wither and die
like ghosts in the clutches of dawn.