Tsunami Morning – a poem by Mark Tulin

Tsunami Morning

Just like any other day,
I awoke bright and early.
I had my buttered toast,
Half & Half in my coffee.

I kissed my wife goodbye,
the dog gave a wag of his tail,
promised my twin daughters
I’d make it to their dance recital.

Opened the door and got carried away
by a big watery dinosaur.

The wave was at least a thousand feet tall,
had a wicked smile for a curl,
a destructive force of a demon crossed.

A dawn of a new era.
My old life washed away.
Good riddance to my nine-to-five job,
goodbye 401K,
I was getting tired of civilization anyway.

All my worldly possessions were gone,
my pipe dreams and gold teeth,
my daughters’ roller skate key
and my silver Ford Explorer
had all floated away

Down a one-way street,
past my favorite ice-cream parlor,
past the schools I attended,
along with saturated lawyers, computer geeks,
and complete strangers I never planned to meet.

I swam submerged with the endangered species
and non-denominational types with their hipster friends.
Sadly enough, only a few people floated to the top–
a Hatha yoga instructor named Laura,
a canonized Saint from Walla Walla,
and an investment broker from Kalamazoo.

 

Mark Tulin is a retired Family Therapist who writes poetry and short stories in Santa Barbara, California. His chapbook, Magical Yogis, was published by Prolific Press (2017). He has published in smokebox.net, Page and Spine, Friday Flash Fiction, and many others.  His poetry and short stories can be found on his website, Crow On The Wire.

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