Volts, Not Applause Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

When she charges her hybrid plug-in BMW,
standing there like a supermodel,
white ankle socks, a caramel knee-high dress,
tinted glasses, clutching
the blue plug-in cable —
I could be watching a Hollywood actress play a glamorous role.

Life as a stage set, every moment watched,
no end to the roll of film, no regret,
each pose orchestrated,
while I imagine what's beneath her well-tailored clothes.

She's scrolling her phone,
waiting on volts, not applause.
It looks like she's here to cut a ribbon,
announce: my heart is beating, open for business.