Every summer afternoon here is
a thunderstorm. A cataclysmic,
rumbling reminder —

I am small. I am susceptible
to natural disaster.
I am a thrill seeker.

But I never get struck.
And the petrichor
is wonderful.

Batman rides his bicycle
on the sidewalk. Batman
remains goofy in Florida. 

A rainbow unrolls above
T.J. Maxx and slurps up water
from the iridescent asphalt.

A man siphons endless gas
into his red gas can at Costco.
There are crystal sinkholes 

in Florida. The water is cold
and clear to the bottom.
There are limestone caves

that have taken the lives
of reckless scuba divers.
I heard a father and son,

certified, confidently
tested their new fear in
the Eagle’s Nest sinkhole.

They never surfaced.
Of course, alligators are
swimming there too. 

But they won’t mess with you
unless you mess with them.