We have No Lightning Rod at Home

by Ping Yi Yee

Cleaved by Thor’s bolt
I fling the shower head away,
its spray corkscrewing across,
wetting my tatty towel,
the thunderclap rattling
shampoos on acrylic shelves.

I check my heart for Hel’s mark,
search my breath for Hades’ hold
while still the water runs,
still the Hyades howl without.
Then Odinson hurls his encore
and I jump a second time.

Poseidon banished with tap shut,
I flex my palms for superpowers,
an uncaped fool pushing his luck
ungrateful for rebirth; yet I have
traversed a mere dozen suns,
my deeds unworthy of lamentation.

Mom pulls into our driveway –
no, this stays my secret –
I give thanks to my Pantheon,
hurrying out to help with groceries,
wondering if the gods play dice
and Dungeons & Dragons with me.

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