Thanksgiving Repair
Wrap the duct tape
Around the edge of the cap;
A not-silver helmet
For alternating sparks.
Maybe now it will go.
Maybe not.
Flags for the wires
Identifying their territory;
They get lost so easily
When they wander from their homes.
Maybe now it will go.
Maybe not.
Turn and change and clean
Nuts and parts and terminal terminals,
Lay blood and knuckle-skin
Sacrifices on steel-and-grease altars.
Maybe now it will go.
Maybe not.
When does the mechanic open?
© 2005 Sorn Skald
- This poem is in the Common Domain and may be
freely distributed, provided it remains unchanged
including copyright notice and this License -