Circuit

The plastic shell has turned a deep nicotine yellow,

a small, scorched lung plugged into the baseboard.

It hummed for an hour in my brother’s spare room

while I tried to find a way to lie

that didn't hurt my back.

Then the flicker. Two sharp blinks,

a smell of singed dust rising like a ghost,

and the dark came back in one heavy piece.

I am forty years old and I still reached

for the wall to make sure it was there.