My wife and I are newly apprenticed
to learn
the hum of my electric current,
to learn
to restore the fraying wire
running from my ever-ready mind
down to my disconnected dick,
lusting to rise,
but,
in need of the spark.
We are learning to finger-twist the split-ends,
twist and tight-tape the tips,
re-connect and re-flick
the switch,
over and over,
and,
(here’s the trick!),
hope.
Poems by Ken 