Ground (an acrostic poem)

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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.”

Stable (an acrostic poem)

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She was so well grounded

That the emotional lightning around her would just fizzle out

And left those around her with a sense of calm

But the smell of drama ozone remained

Letting them know how close they had been to being zapped

Everyone wishes they had a friend like that