If there were Godzilla, like on the TV,
it was him. Angry with us people,
for what, I don't know.
Stomping the ground and smashing houses.
Shocking me awake in confused terror.
After a huge sound like lightning,
striking a gigantic tree,
ripping it in half. I was pulled.
Pulled from side to side, by nothing
as if somebody bumped the table,
and I were jelly on a plate.
My parents were there beside me,
and covered me with a warm downy shield.
Feeling their arms over me,
through the shield, over my head.
Though filled with confusion and fear, I felt safer.
The attack stopped, we ran out to the park.
I saw my friends in their pyjamas, like me.
‘Mum. What was that?’
‘The earthquake hit us. Stay close to me.’
The earthquake hit us? What’s that?
Standing on top of the Jenga tower,
it finally stopped wobbling.
We went home. Shattered glass everywhere.
No water coming from the tap.
No fire from the cooker.
My comfy home was taken from me.
Then I saw it on the TV.
Houses on fire, the twisted motorway.
What happened wasn’t Godzilla.
The tall department store crushed like a can.
This wasn’t my city anymore.
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