There’s an
Energy tag on my big toe
“Zapped to death:” it says
I’m a “John Doe”
A lightening bolt
Sent my soul a jolt
Into the next dimension
Permanently disabled and
Unable to be grounded, you see
Living life on the edge can be fatal
I don’t even know who I am
I think I’m fried forever
But I can tale you this
I still have destiny's will
I’ve felt the power of the gods
I’m all charged up; that was some vitamin pill
Electricity is 1 + 1 = 1
Electricity is one by one to freedom
I feel it deeply in my bones
In the gap in between gods’ ganglia
Perhaps, I do got stinky bits for brains
I’m letting go now
Finally, slipping into oblivion
I finally remember
Yes, I remember
who I am.
The electrician’s pliers
Shields him from live wires
And a final baptism with Satan’s fires.
A mechanic’s spanner
Is his goddamned banner
Dropping him his daily manna.
At the carpenters shop is his treasured hammer
Which begins the entire drama,
Into existence hitting woodwork of Glamour
The judge’s wig
Adds to his being big,
Justice sometimes seeming an election to rig
A poor man’s poor health becomes his curse
And when his wife isn’t a nurse
Continually translates into a dryer of purse.
I once knew an electrician who was terrified
While he was crossing wires he would be completely fried
Turns out he was safe as could be
A little research proved to me
The electrician was properly electrified.
written June 17, 2021
I cheated when I went to the electrician school.
I don't know what I'm doing, I am truly a fool.
I always screw up every house that I wire.
When the power is turned on, people scream "Fire!"
I connect 110 volt wires to 220 outlets and 220 to 110.
When people see my work, they never hire me again.
I was foolish when I decided to wire my house too.
As it burned, I realized that it was a stupid thing to do.
I've been sued two hundred and fifty times and soon it will be two hundred and fifty-one.
When I rewired a man's house who had no insurance, he shot me in the ass with a gun.
I have something to say and I'm sure that you'll agree.
If you want a house that you can keep, don't hire me.
(This is a fictional poem.)
There was a nice lady named Bess,
Her age not many could guess,
Because when she put on her face,
Her age did erase,
But left the bathroom a mell of a hess!
Her husband was an electrician for hire,
He sat on a generator and licked a wire,
He toathted hith tongue,
And burnt up hith bung,
And now he always thits fire!
( I'm sorry. I tried hard but could not find any moral to this story.)
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