Derecho

It thunders like continental drift.
Before the Columbia cut through the Cascades,
before the Cascades themselves pushed up out of the sea,
two plates collided, shoving like punch-drunk giants
staggering before collapse, holding each other up.
It thunders like a whole kennel of boarhounds
scenting feeding time, or game, or a wolf among the flocks,
rattling at the bars and giving tongue.
It thunders like lead cannonballs rolling about the deck
of a sinking ship; like a track full of Indy 500 drivers
screaming into pit stops; like a Saturn V lifting off.
It thunders like Fat Man falling from the sky.

Books Available
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside