Morning

At dusk, covering over with dark but the sky still light,
standing on my mother's porch looking over the town below,
or was it just at dawn? the families and fathers starting
the new day. The town, disorganized, shambly and strewn
with old trucks and trailer parks, looking over and across
watching a plane bullet across from the north
at a low angle and graze into the houses below
glancing off and running through with sparks and flashes
of light bouncing off the cars and trailers
cutting through their lives during breakfast, getting ready
for work, coming to rest among destruction and pain.