In my life I have met three people who were struck by lightning
And lived to tell the tale.
The first an old man climbing Canada's Mount Robson,
He had been hit on the chest when much younger,
The brass zipper of his parka carrying the million volts of charge
Away from his heart, melting and fusing the metal.
He continued to wear the much-worn and torn jacket
As a pullover, for a lucky charm.
"You know," he said, smiling,
"Lightning never strikes twice in the same place."
The second a carpenter, working on my neighbor's house at Big Bear.
Down by the lake, starting up his boat, readying his fishing gear
He had been slammed by a seven thousand degree hot arcing blue bolt
Setting his clothes on fire and melting the skin off his hip and leg.
The scar was very visible, but he just laughed it off.
"Nothing's going to keep me from going fishing."
The third person is myself and to be honest the lightning is only
Figurative, symbolic, metaphorical, yet more real than reality.
But I also was struck by lightning the first time I saw you,
My sweet wife, when I looked into your eyes for the first time.
And I not only lived, but you brought me back to life,
Resurrecting me from my Frankenstein's monster sleep of ennui,
And I not only survived and prevailed, I am reborn,
Day after day, again and again, each time I see you
And you strike me to the heart.