When she refers to their situationship as electric
I am dumbfounded by her naivety.
She wants to use the word electric, so loosely…Okay,
Let’s make it electric! Every story told is provocative in topical octaves
of your on again, off again. You may as well begin the story by
sticking a fork in the toaster or pissing on the electric fence.
When you say electric and refer to the two of you,
this is what we’re all thinking;
You’re the moth to his bug zapper
and he is lightning, splitting your elms to burning timber.
It’s no wonder you’re so afraid of severe weather,
the scorch and singe telling your entire story, abridged.
I may give you a pass at the idea of
static being representative to your clinginess
or that the Edison bulbs orbiting your head
are just outdated, bad ideas
burning out at their quivering coils,
but electric, in your intended respect
is a farfetched over step.
Perhaps you should
stick a car key in the light socket
bathe with your hair dryer plugged in
try to impress him by learning a bit of trapeze
and swing like a circus star upon power lines,
jumping pole to pole.
Conduct these new findings
on what it means to be electric
and give me a buzz later,
I promise to listen
and not be shocked
that you’re still
stranded in the dark
without power,
and without any trace of light.
Nicholas Grooms is a proud stay-at-home father, poet, author, journalist, and musician hailing from Garden City, Kansas. He has recently contributed to such periodicals as Midsummer Dream House, Roi Faineant, and Pictura Journal but is best known for his work as a musician, with many notable appearances including the Vans Warped Tour and his songwriting work with the Kansas City Chiefs organization. He is also the author of the books Me, Myself and I Hate You and My Mental State Has a Midwest Shape. He currently resides in Austin, TX.
Published 2/14/25