Obsolete Knowledge

The man on the screen has steady hands.

He clicks the valve and the pilot sparks blue,

a simple trick that the world understands,

but one that I never actually knew.

I spent four nights in a thermal coat

in a kitchen where the air turned to ice.

I felt the shiver settle deep in my throat

while I paid the landlord’s heavy price.

Now I have the key to a house I left,

and a blue flame flickering on a phone.

It’s a peculiar kind of mental theft

to learn how to fix what you no longer own.