Why does thunder roll?

Is it rolling drums,
the snap crackle pop of thunder?
A trill on a flute, held under indefinite fermata? Or
is it

like waves of rain pitching down a flooded street,
whipping street lamps with its crackling cry.
Like a Spanish 'r', smooth stacatto.
Your voice in hysterics as we laugh hand in hand.
A flood of hot music tumbling out of your throat.

Or a beach ball, streaming through grainy sand.
Lovers in embrace, tumbling under silken bed sheets.
Bright jangling coins spinning on their sides,
or is it the sound children make rolling in humid grass?
A swollen pig swiveling in grime?

The months rolled on as we rolled
this earth.
The water rolled effortlessly off the crackling land.
The rolling prairie stretched beneath our feet.
Our tires grate as we roll through graveled roads.

A ship can roll from beneath us,
while the rolling thunder tosses our massive boat
from underneath our feet.

I can curl in a ball and somersault,
roll across the living room floor,

or you can roll your eyes at me.