After noon. On a some day June in a recovery room.
Move father. You aren’t stained in glass yet. Run
child. You are not hard- wired to breakers. They are
only baffled by your circuitries. The knobs that won’t budge
and the shorts in the extension cords that reveal us all in darkness.
Pinch the fuse and you can still escape the inkblot's translation,
but don't be afraid of the electric chair. Say they're stars.
Memoir’s of a skip-tracer. Or the ghost's of traffic jams
from when you’d bend back power lines so the recoil might unplug you.
-- Chad Weeden’s work has appeared in the Asheville Poetry Review, Crosswinds Poetry Journal, Pedestal Magazine, great weather for MEDIA, Iodine Poetry Journal, Main Street Rag &the Kakalak. He lives in Newport, Rhode Island.