Tuesday, May 14, 2013

POEM - Classification


Driving through the country I get caught
Linda asks me if I am looking at power lines again
Sheepishly I confess
Occupational hazard
I know what those things are
I stare at drawings of them
I’ve been to factories that make them
It is fun to see them
            Fulfilling the measure of their creation

It can be troubling though
Some nights numbers haunt my brain
It gets to where I know I am on the edge
Almost ready to trip over
            Tumble into a world
                        Where I no longer speak real sentences
I can only relate ideas alpha-numerically
According to the Harmonized Tariff Schedule
I fear a life of ten digit numbers
Held together by conjunctions,
            Adverbs, adjectives and the occasional pronoun

It could happen
            More ridiculous thing have
Then all at once it does
As we pass one more power pole
            I begin to comment
Only to say, “Look at the cool 8535.90.8020!”
“What?!?!?” Linda responds, confused
            “Right there, on the 4403.10.0020!”
“You’re not making sense.
            Just slow down and start over.”

“OK, OK . . . See the 7616.99.5030,
            Next to the green 8410.00.0030
                        It is full of frozen 0208.90.2500
                                    And a few rabid 0106.11.000
                                                You should pull out the 9301.90.9030
                                                            We might need to protect ourselves!”

“You’re just silly,” she says, “you know we’re in Mexico!
            You only need to classify to 6 digits!”

And somehow I felt better
            I was able to let it all go
Drove on until I realized I was dreaming
Woke up laughing to myself  
Tapped Linda on the shoulder
            Told her she’d never believe the dream I had

I was talking about power line splices
            Then it all changed
The harder I tried to explain
Suddenly, there was a tank full of frog’s legs
And some rabid monkeys
I told you pull out the machine gun. . .
                                                            Just in case

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