The rumble begins

 

            You wonder just how long it will go on

            Before the walls start swaying and

            A carelessly placed book falls off a shelf

 

            For the life of you

            You can’t remember whether you should

            Hide under a table or head for the hills

 

            So you’re stuck in your tracks

 

            Shaking with the thought

            That survival’s more important

            Than, say, writing poems

 

            Until you come back to your senses

            When it stops

 

            That is,

            If you have any senses left