Ground (an acrostic poem)

Image: cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0217/4288/files/Why-Does-Dirt-Dry-Out-Your-Hands_1024x1024.jpg

Gripping the dirt like he was afraid to fall into the sky

Really it was his muscles clenching all at once

Outside the thunder rumbled, marking sonically where he had been zapped

Under those angry clouds, the smell of ozone persisted

Not that the people with the ski masks on noticed.  They were too busy trying to flee, but they

Didn’t have time because Thor stood back up and smiled.  “Now it’s my turn.”