My job is to stand guard
for Goliath-like electric panels
which I hate, they make drone
throw up heat without you knowing it's on you
give smell of burnt wire
firing kind of gut-ly fear,
though nothing happens eventually -
these imposters are well covered.
My job is to stand guard here
for electric panels which are big,
to stave off miscreants
the whole goddamn gadget
stashed in some remote jungle
where no one knows,
I am forbidden from a smoke.
Here I have seen a Cheetah pass-by
tagging a half eaten
the poor soul which gives goat milk
to the folks down the hills,
the goat has a tag
and all the marks of good civilization,
a cheetah hide fetches good money.
The panels speak to me in my loneliness
whenever I am keen,
they all just say the same things
keep off, danger;
though they are from the same stencil,
they say these things differently over and over,
keep off, danger with capital D.
These days folks suffer longevity
till teeth knocked off cold
medical science is fabulous,
people ticking without purpose,
symbols on my panels
have skull and bones,
skulls with toothsome grin
to say in these places people died very young.
Saranyan BV © March 2012
Comments about this poem (Toothsome Grin! by saranyan bee )
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