gaslight

there’s a blue pilot light
under the stove
and there’s a manchild staring at it
from his spot on the floor

he thinks his own fire’s more golden
than that sapphire
he wonders which glows
hotter

jealous of the blue light’s utility
he imagines blowing it out
living on cold suppers
starving to keep his own spark alive

(or at least unique) within these walls
not paying the bills until
they come to shut it off
and then he’ll shine

the brighter
for sitting in the dark
cold and hungry
this is what he’s been taught

and this is why he’s lying there
with a growl in his center
another boy
not ready to be a man

staring at a gaslight
pilled out and drunk on his kitchen floor
convinced his own inner light
is all he needs to survive