They're saying we owe our lives
To the gas giant, Jupiter, that it shields us
From the collisions of city-sized debris
Hurtling through space. I asked my father
About what the doctor had said, and he
Picked me up in his arms, asked me what
I wanted for Christmas. Boom.
Astronomers with pictures of an explosion
Shooting out of a storm-swirled surface.
Like a vacuum, they said. Sucking up
All these rocks as it sweeps the distant
Dark of the solar system. Something had come
In the mail one day and I remember my father
On the porch swing with a beer in his hand
As we sat down inside to watch TV.
The rusted chains of the swing creaked
Forward, creaked back. Forward and back.
We called to him to come in, but he was looking
At something far down the street. I could see through
the window the mosquitoes swarm around him
In smaller and
smaller circles.
