Am I supposed to be impressed?
I no longer have the capacity.
To wit, I am but a city-dweller
cut and pasted in some backwash backwater.
At the very least, my bladder’s shaking,
my hands are shaking, my eyes.
Such ferocity in the rumbling skies
(Tonight and every night).
Where are my manners?
Elsewhere, one might argue,
but for that, one must have grace.
Chase me out if you must, but keep it casual.