new poem

Replacing a Fuse

The first step
is always a long one, no matter how
familiar the cellar. Entering the semi-dark,
one eye on the dead swinging bulb and
recalling the wisdom of all the horror tales
ever told, you question
every shadow. Each once-safe corner
is black and new. The doors
yawn open, the windows beam weakly, and
you can almost hear Freud and Jung whispering and
taking notes.

You forgot (of course)
a flashlight. You can’t read (of course)
the paper inside the box that tells you which fuse
does what. You’re going to have to
pull them all, one by one, and try to puzzle out
which one is blown.

It’s just another day, then:
fiddling in the dark,
looking for
illumination, trying to set
the currents right
and restore your power
while myths snicker
and wait for you to fail.

About Tony Brown

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A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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