The Middle of the Universe

Have you ever
Exited your hotel room
In the middle of a Montana lightning storm?
Well, I have, and I personally recommend it.
Outside, there was this bench
In the middle of the parking lot
In the middle of Montana
In the middle of the night
In the middle of a lightning storm.
It was the perfect place for me, really,
Because I tend to get caught in the middle of things.
I had been in the middle of some words
I wanted nothing to do with,
Which was the motivation behind my exit.
Anger and solitude make people bolder,
So I valiantly filled a cup with little ice cubes
And sat on the bench.
Feeling superior to my family, who were peeling back the curtains with tentative fingers, I craned my head back and savored the full three hundred and sixty degree cinematic scene.
The clouds were that ugly thunderstorm color,
That brownish greyish black.
But the bolts, they were there,
Shattering the sky apart.
There isn't a word, I don't think,
For what lightning bolts look like.
They're not jagged,
Or soft,
Or hard,
Or sharp,
Or smooth.
Perhaps they are in the middle of everything.
I ate ice and stared at the sky while the clouds crackled.
Of course I wondered, what if I got struck?
Even with no trees, I wasn't close to being
The tallest thing around,
But my mind likes to stay
In those kinds of places.
I felt brave, sitting alone with my thoughts
And the lightning
And my cup of ice.
I went back after a while, and felt good.
I disappeared into my phone.
I think I was happy after that
Because even with all those things I was in the middle of,
I finally felt
Centered.