When the sirens come on,
don’t remain above ground.
Your dad will probably stay and watch. He
keeps the front door wide open. He invites
those gathering winds for a nightcap.
You must
befriend the lonely
creaks as you descend.
(If you don’t have a basement,
just get as low as you can.
Lie down in a ditch.
Crawl into something concrete.
Hit rock bottom.
Drop to the floor. Anything
is better than a grave.)
You’ll want to turn on the TV,
or a radio,
or your intuition.
If it gets too bad,
or if dad never comes down,
or if the wind decides to stay for dessert,
curl up just as you did
when you wandered into this world
on your hands and knees, with the back
of your heels on your butt, forehead
to the ground, and cover your head
with your hands. Almost
like you’re praying.