Grounding

The electrician had a neck like a ham

and a way of talking that made me feel small.

I nodded at 'voltage' and 'amperage' and 'load'

like I wasn't just thinking about the bill.

Now the sky’s gone purple and the fridge is quiet,

and my phone’s at four percent, dying in my palm.

The YouTube guy has a voice like sandpaper

explaining the difference between hot and neutral.

I’m squinting at the box, the metal cold against my knuckles,

looking at the frayed copper ends

pulled apart like a nervous habit,

a mess of wire I swore I understood

just to get a man out of my kitchen.